


Dances and Daggers

by Cozy_The_Overlord



Category: Loki - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Arranged Marriage, Domestic Violence, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Loki (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Prince Loki (Marvel), Threats of Violence, Young Love, also I still don't know how to tag, but it turned into a thing, little prince loki, this was supposed to be short
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:41:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24811738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cozy_The_Overlord/pseuds/Cozy_The_Overlord
Summary: The Summer Festival is upon Asgard, as is the tradition of the dagger ceremony, where each unmarried gentleman chooses a lady to bestow with the honor of carrying his dagger for the night. As Prince Thor's betrothed, Teki's only goal is to accept his dagger with grace and hope that her violent stepfather doesn't find fault with her in the process. But Prince Thor is unpredictable, and when he ignores his engagement on a whim Teki finds herself in a desperate situation. Luckily, Thor isn't the only prince in Asgard...Updates every Tuesday (PST)
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/OFC, Loki (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 113
Kudos: 205





	1. The Dagger

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea that's been in my head for a really long time (like, for several years). I meant it to be a quick little oneshot to get my creative juices flowing, but I completely lost control of it and here I am a month later sitting on thirteen pages worth of writing. Sigh...
> 
> I never specify the ages of Teki and Loki in the story, but if you're curious I pictured them as early teenagers, between 12 and 14 years old (or the Asgard equivalent).
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)

Teki held her breath as her mother laced her into the crimson ball gown.

“Oh, why did you have to upset him tonight?” she lamented as she pulled at the ribbons, ignoring Teki’s pained gasps. “Tonight, of all nights! You know how important it is for you to look your best tonight, and you’ve gone and made a mess of everything!”

Teki didn’t say anything. The subtlest of movements sent her chest on fire—it was not worth a bruising breath to attempt to defend herself. She was certain that at least one of her ribs were broken, but nothing could be done about that until her mother took her in to see the healer tomorrow with a story about how her clumsy little girl had fallen down the stairs again.

 _At least it won’t be a complete lie this time_. Teki hated lying. Usually, the healers bought her mother’s story without issue and just set about silently fixing whatever she had broken, but last time they had questions. _How did a fall down the stairs result in a black eye? Where did these bruises around your arms come from?_ And those gave way to a scarier question. _Do your parents treat you well?_

Teki had nodded her head enthusiastically, just as her mother had trained her. Of course they did! Her mother was loving and caring, the best in the world. She loved her stepfather more than anything. She smiled widely, hopefully masking the panic in her eyes. When the healers seemed to drop the subject, she wasn’t sure if it was relief or guilt gurgling in her stomach.

But she’d have to worry about them tomorrow. Tonight, she had bigger problems—like how she was supposed to dance the night away when it hurt to breathe.

If it were any other night, Teki might have been able to get away with playing sick. Norns know she had attempted that excuse time and time again. But tonight was the first night of the Summer Festival. Tonight was when the young men of the court would each choose a lady to hold their blade, and as Prince Thor’s betrothed, she had to be there.

Her mother often reminded her of how blessed she was to hold such an honored position, how lucky she was that her grandfather had negotiated such an agreement with Odin Allfather. No one was quite sure how he had managed it. But somehow, in the weeks before he died, he had convinced the king to agree to a marriage deal between Teki and Thor, thus turning his daughter’s greatest mistake into her most powerful commodity. Teki hated it. It was because of this “blessing” that Osvald had married her mother. After all, the promising of being the father to the future queen was quite the tempting offer.

But he wasn’t her father. He’d never be her father.

“There!” Her mother smoothed the silky skirt and stood up. “You look lovely! No one will ever know!”

Teki studied her reflection in the mirror. Did she look lovely? The gown clinging to her form did little to hide the tightness of her neck, the beads of perspiration collecting along her hairline. She shifted the wrong way and cried out as pain exploded across her ribcage.

“It hurts,” she whimpered, hands hovering over the throbbing area, afraid that touching it might make it worse. “Mama, it hurts so much.”

“I know darling,” her mother sighed. “Oh, _why_ did you have to upset him tonight? Everything was going so well.”

Tears burned in her eyes. Sometimes, this was even worse than Osvald’s fists. She’d drag herself shaking and sobbing to her mother’s room, only to be fixed with her disappointed glare. She never seemed to understand that Teki didn’t _mean_ to make him mad, she just… did. Everything made him mad. She couldn’t keep him happy, no matter how hard she tried.

“Hopefully, we won’t have to stay the whole time,” her mother saying, studying her in the mirror, “Once Thor gives you his dagger, we can probably find an excuse to leave. Maybe we can say that Brant isn’t feeling well.”

Brant was Teki’s six-year-old half-brother, so shy that many in the court thought him mute. Her mother had taken to using him as an excuse when Teki was hurt. It was better than Teki feigning ill herself—it wouldn’t do for the future queen of Asgard to be seen as too weak to stay for an entire dance.

Teki broke into a coughing fit. Her ribcage was on fire. The girl in the mirror didn’t look lovely, she realized. She looked like a corpse in a pretty dress.

“I can’t do it,” she whispered as the tears threatened to pour out, “It hurts too much. Please don’t make me do it, Mama, _please_.”

Her mother kneeled to brush a loose strand of hair out of her face. “There, there, none of that,” she cooed. “Of course you can do it! I’m sure Prince Thor can’t wait to dance with you!”

Prince Thor was three years older than Teki. He spent his days training in the courtyard with the Einherjar recruits and shadowing his father in the throne room while court was in session. He and Teki interacted only at festivals and balls, where they danced together silently until both sets of parents were satisfied, then went their separate ways. Teki doubted he’d miss her very much if she didn’t show tonight.

Her mother continued brushing through her hair. “I suppose I can give you something,” she said absentmindedly. “Not as much as last time, of course, but just a little something to help with the pain.”

The last time Teki had tried one of her mother’s painkiller drinks, she had passed out on the way back to their quarters, her evident laziness enraging her stepfather. She had sworn she’d never have any of it again, no matter how much she was hurting, but…

“Can you?” she asked, her voice pathetically small. “Please?”

Teki sipped on the concoction as her mother braided her hair into an elegant bun. The mug was only half full, but she was determined to limit her intake to even less. Just enough to make the burning go away for a few hours.

Her mother smiled and squeezed her shoulders. “Oh Tekla,” she breathed, “You’re going to be the prettiest one there!”

Brant and Osvald met them in the hall. Teki wanted to laugh—Brant was dressed up like a little warrior doll in his tiny leather armor—but she kept her face neutral. Osvald didn’t like it when children spoke out of line.

Brant, being his son, could get away with such disgraceful behavior. “Teki!” he squealed. “You look like a princess!”

“Not a princess, Brant,” her mother corrected. “A queen. And you know that’s not her name, darling—you can say her name, can’t you?”

Brant looked up at her with his big blue eyes, suddenly silent.

“Come on,” she continued prompting. “Tek-la. You can say Tekla, right?”

He gulped. “Tek-wa.”

“No, Brant. La. Tek-la,” her mother smiled down at him, but there was something strained at the corners of her mouth. “You can say it. Lalalalala!”

When Brant said nothing, she sighed. “You don’t want to look silly, do you?” she asked. “Do you want people to laugh at you because you can’t say your sister’s name?”

Brant’s bottom lip was trembling, the tell-tale sign that he was seconds away from bursting into tears. Teki forced a cough.

“It-it’s getting late, isn’t it?” she asked. Her voice was too loud and she cringed. “I mean—” Everyone was looking at her now, and she dropped her gaze to the floor. “I mean, I know mother wanted to get to the Festival right as it started,” she whispered. Her chest twinged, the last remnant that the painkiller had yet to take care of, and she bit her tongue to stifle the groan.

“Yes, yes, of course!” Her mother perked up, Brant forgotten in a second. “I’m sure Prince Thor will want to present his dagger early on. We mustn’t be late!”

“Of course,” said Osvald. “We wouldn’t want to embarrass ourselves. Would we, Tekla?”

Teki’s shoulder’s shook with the weight of his gaze. “No sir,” she whispered.

Her hands were trembling as they made their way through the palace. She clasped them in front of her skirt to mask the shaking. This was the first Summer Festival in which she was old enough to accept the honor of holding someone’s blade. It was an old tradition, but quite simple. When a man found a woman who pleased him, he could ask her to carry his dagger. It was a sign of respect, and of faith—he trusted her enough to give her control over his weapon for the remainder of the night. Who got to hold whose blade would be a topic of gossip for months to come.

For the past few years, Teki’s mother looked on with gritted teeth as Prince Thor handed his dagger off to a different girl every festival. Being older than Teki meant that he had come of age before she did, and that for a time he was unable to give her his dagger because she was too young. Tonight was the night her mother had been waiting for ever since she could walk.

Teki was terrified she’d forget what to say when Thor offered her the dagger.

The chatter of the ballroom enveloped her the moment they entered, and she allowed herself to melt into its anonymity. There was a strange kind of safety in knowing that she could be so easily swallowed up by the crowd.

Thor stood on the platform in the middle of the room, alongside his parents and younger brother. He was grinning at someone in the crowd, someone who wasn’t Teki. That was okay. She never quite knew what to say to the crown prince. Hopefully, they could just get their dancing and daggering out of the way quickly, and then he could go back to winking at whoever it was that he was currently winking at. Teki didn’t mind. She just wanted to lay down.

Odin welcomed the people to the first night of the Summer Festival in his booming voice, and with a bang of his spear on the ground, the festivities began. She got asked to dance soon after, by a stocky boy she knew from her Vanir class. At first, Teki wasn’t sure if she should accept—usually, she danced with Thor first—but she saw that her fiancé was already twirling a dark-haired girl on the dance floor, so she thought it would be okay.

Several dances later, Thor was still with the dark-haired girl. Teki didn’t know her name, but she thought she recognized her: she looked like the girl who trained with the Einherjar. With Thor. She swallowed the ball of anxiety climbing her throat and smoothed her crimson skirt. It made sense for Thor to want to spend time with someone he knew well, someone closer to his age. It was just… he had been with her a long time. And Teki knew that somewhere in the room, Osvald and her mother were peering at her intently, waiting on pins and needles for the prince to approach her with an extended hand.

A waiter came by with a tray of some kind of pastries, but Teki declined. The throbbing in her chest was beginning to return, along with a queasy feeling in her stomach. She hoped Thor would come over soon so she could go home and lie down.

A thin smattering of applause broke out over the music. Teki frowned. What happened? Should she be clapping too? She hadn’t been paying attention.

There was a stiffness in the air that hadn’t been there before. People were glancing back at her—why were so many people looking at her? And then she saw it.

Thor was tying his scabbard around the dark-haired girl’s waist in the middle of the dance floor. It took her a moment to understand, but once she did, she felt the color drain from her face.

Thor gave her his dagger.

Thor gave _someone else_ his dagger.

Teki felt as though she had been doused in ice water.

Through the crowd, she felt Osvald’s heavy glare on her. She found him standing on the opposite side of the room, clapping with the rest of those around him. His features were emotionless, but his eyes glinted as they captured her gaze, hard and full of horrible promises.

_We wouldn’t want to embarrass ourselves. Would we, Tekla?_

Her breathing was coming fast now, so fast that it hurt, so fast that it felt like she wasn’t breathing at all.

_Air. I need air!_

Teki wasn’t sure how she made it to the balcony, only that suddenly she was outside, gripping the golden railing as if her life depended on it and gulping the cool, evening air.

Osvald was going to kill her.

A despondent wail slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it. She slapped both hands over her mouth in an attempt to silence herself.

_Breathe._

_Breathe._

_Breathe._

Why did Thor have to do that? Why couldn’t he have danced with her first? Didn’t he understand?!

_Breathe._

The balcony overlooked the royal gardens, lush greenery that stretched far into the darkness of the night. Teki stared out at it all without really seeing it. Had she done something to upset Thor? Was he angry with her? Osvald would certainly see it that way…

Oh Norns, _Osvald_ …

“Are you well?”

Teki jumped, whipping around with a shriek. Emerald eyes peered at her through the darkness.

Prince Loki.

She had had even less experience with the younger prince than with her betrothed, even though Thor’s little brother was closer to her age. He had been in a few of her classes when she was much younger, back when they were both still learning to read, but they never talked to each other. He didn’t speak much then. As far as she knew, he still didn’t.

Had he just been standing there this whole time, watching her panic about Thor’s blade? Teki had never been so mortified in her life.

“I’m well, my prince, thank you,” she tried to sink into a curtsey, but with her ribs screaming in protest all she could manage was a little bow of her head. “I-I just needed some fresh air.”

For a moment, Loki only stood there, studying her with those jewel-like eyes. “I can understand that,” he finally said, cautiously joining her at the railing, “It’s quite stuffy in there, don’t you think?”

Teki gaped at him, belatedly finding the wherewithal to nod in agreement. He turned his gaze to the gardens, allowing the quiet to lapse over the two of them once more. Teki stood rigidly at his side, wondering if walking away would be considered rude or if it was expected of her.

After several minutes of the uncomfortable silence, he cleared his throat. “You look lovely tonight, Lady Tekla.”

The compliment only reminded her of the gown her mother had laced her into earlier, the same shade of red as the cape Thor wore as he danced with the wrong girl. Her eyes swam with tears.

“Thank you,” she only barely managed to whisper.

Teki could feel his eyes on her, but she couldn’t bring herself to look up. It wasn’t enough that she had failed to capture the favor of the boy she was _promised_ too; now she had gone and humiliated herself in front of his younger brother.

Somehow, she knew she wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.

Loki shifted awkwardly. “My lady, I—” There was something in his tone that sounded almost apologetic. He cleared his throat again.

“Would you carry my blade for me tonight?” he asked quickly.

It took a moment for Teki to process his words, but once she did, she whipped her head to face him so quickly her braids almost slipped loose from their bun. 

“What?” she breathed. He had to be joking. Laughing at her failure. But the prince only smiled at her with a sort of hesitant eagerness. “You—” she stuttered, completely forgetting to use his proper titles. “You want _me_?”

He laughed nervously. “Well, you’re the only one out here, aren’t you?” When Teki just stared at him, he coughed, twitching uncomfortably. “Of course, if you don’t wish to, I understand completely. I know I’m not—”

“No! It’s not—I mean—” Teki’s head was swimming. Was she even allowed to carry someone else’s dagger? He was still a prince, even if he wasn’t the _right_ prince… it might please her parents to know that the _entire_ royal family didn’t find her repulsive…

She smiled. “I’d be honored, your highness.”

Loki exhaled. “Wonderful.”

He picked at the knot holding his scabbard to his hip, the black leather sheath that housed his dagger. She could just barely make out the intricate design of its handle in the moonlight: snakes of gold intertwined and twisting their way up the grip, their metallic scales shimmering like the stars in the sky. Teki could practically hear her mother wailing about how it would clash with the silver trim of her dress. Still, she stepped forward when Loki reached out to tie the scabbard around her waist.

He was exceedingly cautious as he pulled the leather around her, almost as if he was afraid she’d shatter like glass if he moved the wrong way. Osvald would’ve laughed if he had saw it (“ _Our prince, ladies and gentlemen, frightened off by a pair of hips”_ ), but Teki was grateful for his hesitancy. She too felt as if she was prone to shattering.

He pulled the strap tight as he knotted it, unknowingly pressing the leather against her aching rib. Teki couldn’t stop the hiss of pain that whistled through her teeth. Loki froze, glancing up in alarm.

“Did I hurt you? Are you alright?” His voice was slightly panicked.

Teki’s face flushed. Couldn’t she do _one thing_ right today? “It’s fine, my prince,” she said quickly, ignoring the renewed throbbing in her chest.

“Are you certain? Forgive me—”

“There’s nothing to forgive, my prince,” she smiled widely, hoping she looked calm and well put together and not as spastic as she felt.

He studied her, gaze laced with concern, but finished tying the scabbard. Her fingers traced over the scaly hilt that now dangled at her hip. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears, so loud she wondered if Loki could hear it.

 _I’m holding someone’s dagger_.

Somehow, in all the times she practiced this interaction in her head, she never imagined the giddy rush that came with carrying the weapon. Of course she hadn’t! —in her head, it was always Thor tying the scabbard around her waist for appearances sake, because he had to. This was different. This was Loki, and Loki didn’t have to.

Loki held out his hand. “Would you join me for a dance?”

Teki nodded.

The dance floor was just as crowded as it had been when she had dashed off, but Osvald and her mother were nowhere to be seen. Teki breathed a sigh of relief as she and Loki slipped unseen into the waltz.

For a while, the two said nothing. Teki’s mother had drilled into her at a young age that to look at one’s feet while dancing was the pinnacle of discourtesy, but her stepfather gave her the back of his hand every time she dared to look a man in the eye. As a sort of compromise, Teki had fallen into the habit of focusing only on her partner’s chest during a dance. It was awkward, especially with someone like Loki who was basically the same height as her, but it kept both her overlords happy.

Apparently, it did not have the same effect on princes.

Loki, having seemingly overcome any anxiety he may have been feeling on the balcony, was quick adopt a teasing tone.

“Is my breastplate so terribly interesting, that you continue to study it so?” he asked with a hint of laughter in his voice, “Or am I just so hideous that you can’t bear to look at me?”

Teki started. “Oh, of course not, my prince. I—”

“It’s alright, my lady. I won’t turn you to stone.” Hesitantly, she raised her gaze to find Loki grinning at her. “There you are. You have such lovely eyes.”

Her eyes were murky brown, the same uninspired shade as her departed father’s. That Loki, with his sparkling gemstone irises, was saying hers were _lovely_ was almost laughable. Cheeks burning, Teki dropped her gaze once more.

“Oh no! Not again!” Loki protested. When she continued to keep her eyes downcast, he sighed dramatically. “You continue to deprive me, Lady Tekla.”

Teki tried to bite back the smile that tickled her lips. This truly was the silliest conversation she had ever had with anyone, dancing or not. “My eyes are hardly anything special, my prince. It can’t be that great a deprivation.”

“Oh, you couldn’t be more wrong, my lady,” he said earnestly. “I’d go as far to say that you have the loveliest eyes in the room. They’re warm and inviting—like freshly roasted chestnuts on a winter’s day. Subtle, but subtle suits you, doesn’t it?” He reached out to tip her chin up, forcing her to look at him. “As I said, _lovely_.”

If her cheeks had been burning before, they must have been on fire now. “If you say so, my prince,” she murmured. Loki laughed, spinning her about to the music.

While he seemed blessedly content to drop the topic of eye color, Loki was quite clearly intent on carrying out a conversation. It was strange, to say the least—Teki had never known him to speak two sentences together at once, but now that he had started, he talked more than all of her previous dance partners combined. Even stranger was his determination to maintain a dialogue: he’d ask her questions about her family and hobbies and seemed to genuinely listen to her answers, however threadbare they may have been. Teki was shocked to discover that Loki knew her brother’s name and age, something Thor never seemed to remember.

“I suppose I just have a better memory when it comes to such things,” he shrugged when she said as much. Teki wondered if she was imagining the faint pink in his cheeks.

They had taken a break from dancing, standing huddled in the corner near a refreshment table as they sipped tiny goblets of wine. Usually, Teki tried to avoid the sickly sweet glasses, filled so carefully to their golden brims, but the pain in her ribs was getting quite severe and her mother always insisted that alcohol could mask any kind of ache.

Out on the dance floor, Prince Thor was twirling the dark-haired girl to whom he had given his dagger, laughing with an enthusiasm that suggested that he may have been drinking some wine as well. Loki had said that the girl’s name was Sif, and that she and his brother had grown quite close in the past year.

“It’s another one of his passing fancies. Nothing to worry about,” he had told her. “He has a tendency to forget that the universe doesn’t orbit him. His choice had nothing to do with you.” Teki wished Osvald would see it the same way.

She caught glimpse of her stepfather on the other side of the room, laughing gaily with a woman who was not her mother, and quickly averted her eyes. Her free hand caressed the hilt of Loki’s dagger at her hip. The younger prince may have granted her a respite, but it would not last. It was wishful thinking to hope that he would not blame her for Thor’s decision. He blamed her for everything. The outburst from earlier, the one that ended with her in a crumbled heap at the bottom of the stairs, had been over a book missing from his nightstand. Teki hadn’t touched the book, hadn’t even been aware of its existence, but Osvald still dragged her out of her room by her collar, shouting about harboring liars and thieves under his own roof.

Teki swallowed. No, he would be furious when they returned tonight. He’d wait until her mother went up to put Brant to bed, and then he’d turn on her.

_“You had one purpose tonight. One singular purpose.”_

Maybe he’d pick something up. A heavy book. One of the silver candlestick holders. He liked to hold things in his hands, liked the authority it gave him. Or maybe he’d just knock her to the floor with his fists.

When Teki had been little, she used to run from him. That was foolish. Running made him even angrier when he caught her, and he always caught her. She knew better than to try now. Now, when Osvald was mad, she knew to stay as perfectly still as possible, to muffle her cries and staunch her tears as much as she could, and to let him hit and kick and rant as much as he liked because then it was over faster. When he was finished, she could hobble to her parents’ room, where her mother would be pretending that the walls were too thick for her to hear the thuds.

A hand on her wrist made her jump, spilling her wine on the floor.

“Forgive me, my lady, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Loki smiled, but there was a sense of worry behind his eyes. “Are you well?”

Teki nodded, not trusting her voice. This was the second time tonight the prince had been concerned enough with her wellbeing to ask that question. She needed to pull herself together. But her hands were beginning to shake worse than leaves in the wind, and her breath was coming in fast little hiccups, her chest screaming. Somehow, she knew Osvald was watching.

Loki said something, but his troubled face was quickly fading into a blur of sound and color. She couldn’t have a scene. Not now, here, in front of the whole court! She couldn’t give him another reason to be mad! He was already _so mad_ —

She cried out when someone wrapped their arm around her waist, pressing a little too hard on her injured ribs, but the grip loosened and she realized it was only Loki, guiding her out of the ballroom and down the hall to a bench. The sudden lack of the hum of hundreds of voices left her ears ringing, but somehow, the effect was soothing.

Teki was choking out apologies even as the prince helped her into the seat. He shushed her, kneeling before the bench and stroking her knee through her dress. That was soothing too.

“Breathe,” he murmured. “Just breathe. It’s alright. You’re safe.”

His words lulled her racing heart to a steadier pace. She closed her eyes and did as he said.

_Breathe. In and Out. It’s alright. Just breathe._

She didn’t notice when his hand moved from her knee to her waist, but she _did_ notice when his reassuring stream of words cut off abruptly. Teki opened her eyes to see him frowning at her middle.

“You’re injured,” he said.

Her heart jumped to her throat. “W-what?”

“This swelling by your chest. That’s not normal.” He looked up, his features distressed. “You’ve been in pain this whole time, haven’t you?”

Teki turned away. She couldn’t face him, not with him looking up at her like that. “I fell down the stairs,” she whispered when she realized he was waiting for an answer, quietly, quickly, all in one breath.

Loki said nothing. He brought his other hand to join the first at her waist and muttered something. A strange heat enveloped her chest, soft and safe, and suddenly the pain was gone. Just gone, as if nothing had ever happened. Teki inhaled. She had heard that the younger prince had his mother’s talent for magic, but never had she imagined he was capable of such healing.

“Thank you,” she managed to breathe. Then she burst into tears.

She shouldn’t have been surprised. It had been building all night, the panic slowly rising in her throat even as she fought to swallow it whole. It was only a matter of time before it came pouring out. Still, it was humiliating. Teki buried her face in her hands, as if she could hide her obnoxious sobbing from the prince.

He rose. Teki half expected him to return to the party: after all, he had done more than enough. There was no need for him to sit here and watch her bawl like a baby.

But he didn’t leave. Instead, she felt his weight settle next to her on the bench. Gently, he began stroking her knee again, just a feather-light touch that she barely felt through her skirt. He said nothing.

They sat like that for a while, the silence of the hallway pierced only by her wet hiccups. It was a pathetic display and Teki knew it, but she didn’t have the energy to pretend otherwise. Honestly, it started to feel rather nice after a bit. There was no staging right here, no role she had been trained to play. Lady Tekla of Asgard, betrothed of Prince Thor—that girl had washed away with the tears. Now, there was only Teki: battered and broken, but _real_.

Slowly, she got ahold of herself. Steadied her breathing, fixed her hair, wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand—at least, that’s what she was making to do when Loki held out a handkerchief. Teki took it with mumbled thanks. She tried not to concentrate on what he must have been thinking of all this. A bitter laugh tickled her lips as she dabbed at her nose: at least it was only Loki who bore witness to what a mess she was, and not Thor, or worse, Odin.

He was the first to break the silence, his tone measured and deliberate. “My mother is very protective of the ladies of the court,” he said, holding her in his gaze. “If she thought that one was being mistreated, she would not hesitate to take action.”

Teki swallowed. She knew what he was asking. Here he was, trying to throw her a line and pull her to safety. She just didn’t know if she could take it. For a moment, Teki imagined going to Frigga, spilling her guts to a sympathetic mother, watching as her stepfather was arrested and dragged away on the orders of the Queen. It was a lovely dream, but it soon faded into something quite different. Going to Frigga, telling her everything, only to have the Queen call in Osvald to check his story. Osvald would lie. So would her mother. So would Brant, if they had time to tell him what to say. And Frigga would shake her head and chastise her for lying and send her back with her family, and Osvald would take her by the arm and, and…

_We wouldn’t want to embarrass ourselves, would we Tekla?_

“It’s fine, my prince,” Teki said, twisting the wet handkerchief around her fingers. She couldn’t look at him. “It’s fine. It was just an accident.”

Even with her focus on her lap, she could feel the prince studying her. How was it, she wondered, that this boy’s gaze was so tangible that she always knew when his eyes were on her?

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly.

Teki nodded. Her eyes were burning again, but she had cried enough today and was determined not to start again.

“Lady Tekla,” he shifted, leaning closer to her. “Please. There must be something I can do.”

It wasn’t right, hearing the prince say her birth name so gently, not when it belonged to Osvald. It had never bothered her before, but suddenly, she couldn’t stand it. “You can call me Teki,” she blurted out without thinking. Gasping, she clapped her hands over her mouth.

But Loki didn’t seem offended at her direct tone. “Teki?” he asked, cocking his head. “Is that a nickname?”

Her cheeks were on fire, but she nodded. “In-in a way, my prince,” she stuttered. “Please, forgive my—”

“There’s nothing to forgive, my lady,” he laughed. “Please, continue.”

Teki inhaled, swallowing her embarrassment. “Well… I don’t really go by Tekla. Or, I do, but… my brother calls me Teki.” She was speaking far too fast and likely making very little sense, but now that she had started, she found she couldn’t stop. “He can’t pronounce his l’s, see, so he just calls me Teki. It drives my mother crazy. She thinks he sounds like a simpleton. But… I kind of like it. More than Tekla, I mean. My—” she stopped abruptly, before she ventured out into more dangerous territory.

Loki nodded. “Go on.”

Teki bit the inside of her cheek. She wasn’t supposed to talk about him. She especially wasn’t supposed to talk about him to a member of the royal family. But Loki was sitting there, smiling at her with an eagerness she had never seen from anyone else, and she found herself trusting him despite herself.

“My father called me Teki, too,” she whispered. “My real father. Before he… went away.” She sighed. Saying it felt like a betrayal. Her father had been a kind, wonderful man, a musician in the royal court. According to the stories she heard from the servants, he had been absolutely enchanted with her mother, who greatly enjoyed the attention from the court’s most talented bard. Teki had been the accidental result of a few minutes indiscretion between performances.

Once he found out, her grandfather had been in a rush to marry his daughter off to a respectable noble before the pregnancy began to show. But the musician wouldn’t have it. The child was his, he argued. By law he had the right to raise it as such. Teki’s grandfather offered him money, land, prestige, but he held his ground. In the end, Teki’s mother had no choice, and the two were wed.

Even as a child, Teki knew that her parents didn’t like each other. They slept in separate beds in separate rooms and spoke to each other only through servants carrying messages. When her grandfather visited for lunch, her father was not allowed to the table. But he didn’t care, and so neither did Teki. He was content to spend his days carrying her through the gardens on his shoulders, singing songs of dragons and warriors and brave little princesses who saved the day. She learned to play the piano before she learned to read, sitting on his lap and covering his tan hands with hers as they danced across the keys.

“My little Teki,” he’d laugh when they finished a piece together. “You’re going to put me out of work!”

She had just started her lessons when the negotiations between Odin and her grandfather began. At the time, Teki didn’t really understand what was happening, only that her grandfather was coming over more than usual, and that he was angry at her father more than usual. When she asked her father about it, he told her not to worry.

“The adults are just trying to figure some things out,” he said, tucking her into bed. “It’s nothing you should be concerned with.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you, Teki.”

“Love you, Daddy.”

Then one day he was gone. Just gone. Her mother produced a letter he had left behind, explaining that family life had just become too overwhelming for him and that he had formally dissolved his marriage. Within a week, everything had changed: his room had been cleared out, the piano sold away, her mother’s engagement to Osvald formally announced. A week later, Odin made public his agreement with her grandfather, betrothing his eldest son to Lady Tekla.

Teki was banned from talking about her father.

“He left us, dear,” her mother explained. “He didn’t love you. He’s not your father anymore. We have Lord Osvald now.”

Teki nodded, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. _He went away. He left. He doesn’t love you. He’s gone._ She chanted the words in her head over and over again, trying to convince herself of their validity. But she couldn’t bring herself to believe them.

When her father first disappeared, a handwriting specialist was produced to determine whether or not the letter was genuine. He concluded that it was in fact written by Teki’s father and that the sentiments expressed within were completely authentic. But he was wrong.

At the bottom of the letter, her father had left a note for her. “My dear Tekla,” it said, “I hope you understand that this is all for your own good. Someday, I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me. Love, Daddy.”

Her father never called her Tekla.

Of course, Teki didn’t tell any of this to Prince Loki. Still, he seemed to be struggling to come up with a response to what little she had said. She wondered how much he knew about her father. Her family had done a good job of disappearing him from existence—most of the court believed her stepfather to be her biological father. Over the years, she had gotten used to being introduced as Tekla Osvalddottir, as deeply as it stung.

“It sounds quite special,” the prince finally said. “Are you sure you want _me_ to use it? I feel as though I might profane it.”

Teki flushed at the reminder of how they reached this subject. “You don’t have to, my prince,” she murmured. “Only if you want to. I mean—I do prefer it to Tekla, but—”

“Well, in that case I shall,” he said softly. “Lady Teki. It’s quite sweet. I like it.” He grinned, his green eyes lighting up. “It’s only a few letters off from _Loki_ , after all.”

She giggled despite herself. “Just… don’t let my mother hear you say that. I think she’d go mad if anyone else started calling me Teki.”

“Well, now I won’t be able to help it, will I? I do so love my mischief.”

Inside the ballroom, she could only just barely hear the notes changing to a slower dance. Perhaps it would be best if they returned now. Who knew how long she had kept the prince away from the festival with her wild, emotional nonsense. Someone was certain to be looking for him.

Loki seemed to read her mind. “If you’re feeling better,” he asked, standing up and offering his hand, “Perhaps you would honor me with another dance?”

Teki beamed. “I’d love to, my prince.”

The ballroom was just as they had left it, couples swaying, laughing, drinking. She noted Thor with Sif on his arm in one corner, her mother with Brant in another. Osvald was nowhere to be found, and Loki seemed to have no intentions of letting her search for him. He swept her into his arms, her gorgeous crimson dress fanning out around her, and pulled her out onto the floor. There wasn’t much to this dance: it was mostly just simply swaying, soft and soothing like her partner. Teki found herself melting into the movements, entranced by Loki’s smile.

“I’m glad Thor didn’t give me his dagger,” she whispered. She was surprised by how much she meant it.

Loki’s breath hitched. “Really?”

She nodded. Maybe Osvald could try to make her regret it, but she could feel the truth deep in her chest.

Her prince smiled. “Me too, Teki,” he whispered. “Me too.”


	2. The Piano

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of the Summer Festival, Teki gets a summons to the Queen's chambers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who's back! I know it's been a while, but I got several comments on the original chapter asking if I'd could write more, which was really great to hear because I wanted to write more as well. If you follow my Tumblr, you'll know that I've already written the entire story (it's all I've been working on for the past month) and that I'll be posting a chapter once a week on Tuesdays. 
> 
> To those of you who asked for a part two, thank you so much for sticking around encouraging me to continue. I'm really excited for this story, and I hope it meets your expectations. :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!

The Great Hall was roaring.

The last night of the summer festival always called for feasting and revelries, singing and shouting, shattering glasses and toasting from tabletops, and the people of Odin’s palace were only too happy to comply. Frantic servants navigated through the chaos, pressing overflowing goblets into outstretched palms. The drunken celebration consumed the room, the one time a year every noble allowed themselves to act like peasants.

Well, _almost_ everyone.

“What a filthy display,” grumbled Osvald, glaring at a couple kissing passionately, the woman sitting in the man’s lap. He chucked another goblet over his shoulder. “If I wanted to watch sluts tonight, I would’ve gone to the whorehouse.”

Teki didn’t say anything. She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, balancing stiffly on the edge of the bench on the other side of the table. Any other year, her stepfather would be happily participating in the debauchery engulfing the room. She knew that he was only spitting poison tonight because of what happened two weeks ago, on the first night of the festival. On their way back to their rooms, Osvald had tripped at the top of the staircase and hurt his back, cursing and spitting and moaning about how he had been pushed. He had refused to go to the healers.

“What do want me to tell them?” he snapped at her mother when she broached the subject. “That I can’t walk down a flight of stairs?” With that, he hobbled off, insisting that he was fine.

Two weeks later, he still was hunched over in pain.

It gave the family an odd atmosphere. On one hand, Osvald’s frequent foul moods had turned into a perpetual foul mood, and Teki was frequently finding herself on the receiving end of his tongue-lashings for merely existing. On the other hand, they were _only_ tongue-lashings. She had spent enough time with an injured back to understand that her stepfather was hurting too much to be bothered to hurt _her_ , and that brought on a tentative sort of peace.

Brant tugged at her sleeve. “Teki,” he whispered. “Can you cut my food?”

She smiled. “Sure. But first—” she scanned the table for something with writing on it, settling on the nametags marking their seats, “Can you tell me what this says?”

Brant squinted at his name, mouthing out the sounds in silence. Teki waited patiently. She had made it her goal this summer to teach her little brother to read—honestly, he should have already been assigned a tutor a year ago, but since he was so shy around others, her mother had decided to wait. She had laughed when Teki had explained her intentions, but Brant was smarter than his parents often gave him credit for.

His eyes lit up. “That’s me!” he cried out. “Brant Osvaldson!”

“Right!” she grinned. “Good job!” Teki reached over with her knife and fork to chop his meat into smaller bites. Beaming, Brant turned towards the partiers. He turned back around rather quickly.

“Teki!” he hissed, pulling at her sleeve again. “Teki, he’s _looking_ at you!”

“What?” Teki twisted around to see what her brother was talking about, following his gaze to the raised platform where the royal family and their close friends were eating. She locked eyes with the dark-haired prince for only a second before Loki whipped his head back towards his mother.

Teki turned back to her table quickly as well, cheeks burning. She hadn’t spoken with Loki since he gave her his dagger on the first night of the festival. That was likely due to action taken by both sets of parents, who sought to cover up the embarrassment of the Crown Prince giving his dagger to the wrong girl by making certain Thor danced with Teki multiple times every night since. It was … awkward. While Prince Thor was always perfectly polite, it was painfully obvious that there were other activities he’d rather be doing than dancing with a girl several years his junior, whose head barely came up to his shoulders.

She had wanted to spend more time with Loki, but that was awkward too. Teki was supposed to be marrying Thor, as her parents made a point of reminding her. She needed to be spending time with him, not his inconsequential little brother. So, Teki played the model daughter, model princess, model queen-in-training and danced only with those her mother told her to.

But she couldn’t forget how _nice_ Loki had been. How he had sat with her when she cried, healed her rib, gave her his dagger—she still had his dagger, stuffed under her mattress. Usually, the whole “dagger-holding” ceremony was just that: a ceremony that ended with the night. But when Teki tried to return his blade, Loki wouldn’t have it.

“You should keep it,” he said. “To remember the night. If you want, that is. I have plenty.”

Teki’s instinct had been to refuse, to insist that it was his and that he needed to take it back, but something caused her to bite her tongue.

“Thank you,” she whispered. She was relatively certain he knew she wasn’t just talking about the dagger.

Osvald was sure to lose his temper at her if he caught her sneaking weapons into his rooms, so she was careful to keep it hidden. It was rather stupid, the more she thought about it (why would she ever need a dagger? What would she supposed to do with it?) but there was also a strange kind of thrill that would come over her when she took it out its sheath and admired her reflection in the pointed blade.

Brant was back to tugging at her sleeve. “He’s looking at you again,” he whispered. “Why does he keep looking at you?”

“He’s not looking at me,” she said, forcing a smile as she poked him in his tummy. “He’s looking at _you_ , because you’re not eating your food, even after I cut it all nicely for you! You didn’t even say thank you!”

He giggled and pulled his plate closer to him. “Thank you, Teki.”

“You’re welcome.” Teki watched him shovel food into his mouth, trying to fight the urge to look over her shoulder again. The temptation soon became too much, and she allowed herself one quick peak.

Brant was right. Loki was looking at her again.

Teki turned back to the table, keeping her features completely neutral to hide the strange warmth that seemed to be glowing in her chest.

…

Teki stood stiffly in the middle of the Queen’s sitting room, picking at the sash on her dress with nervous fingers. The servant who had led her in had told her to make herself comfortable while she waited, but she was far too tense to even consider sitting down.

The Queen had sent word to her mother that morning that she wished to see Teki in her quarters, but she hadn’t given any explanation as to why. Of course, her mother wasn’t concerned with an explanation. She spent the morning fussing over what dress Teki was to wear, how she should fix her hair, whether or not she should put on jewelry (it was decided she shouldn’t, as her mother feared giving the appearance of putting on airs before the Queen). For most of the morning, Teki had been playing the role of a mannequin as her mother draped different fabric across her shoulders, hoping that her stillness could hide the churning in her stomach.

The Queen had never asked to see her before. They had spoken many times at balls and feasts, but Teki had never been singled out for a private audience. She told herself it made sense—after all, she was of age now, perhaps the Queen simply wanted to get to know her future daughter-in-law—but what if it was something else? What if she had done something wrong? What if the Queen was angry at her? What if _(and this was the “what if” making her feel as if she was about to vomit)_ Loki had told her about Osvald?

Teki swallowed, pulling harder at her sash. She hadn’t outright told him about her stepfather, but she was clear after that night that he knew what was going on. He had offered to tell his mother for her, but she had refused. Doing such would only result in scandal for her family, and if Osvald thought she was spreading rumors about him … all the back pain in the world wouldn’t stop him.

She tried to push the thoughts away. Loki wouldn’t have told. He wouldn’t have! She had specifically _asked_ him not to. What kind of prince would he be if he couldn’t keep his word?

But as time went on, with Queen Frigga still not entering the room, Teki’s anxiety began to be replaced with impatience. What was going on? How much longer would she have to wait? She found herself scanning the room for the first time since she walked in.

It was a lovely sitting room, although not quite as extravagant as she would have thought from a Queen’s quarters. The walls were of simple wooden paneling, the furniture matching with blue and golden accents. Sapphire curtains opened into a gold-plated balcony overlooking the palace courtyard. And in the corner of the room… Teki’s breath caught in her throat.

It was a piano. A beautiful, polished, mahogany piano. She found herself walking towards it without making the decision to move. It had been so long since Teki had last seen a piano. Music had been the first thing her mother purged from the household upon her father’s departure. She had taken all Teki’s sheet music away that first day and sold off the piano by the end of the week. While Teki was never directly banned from playing music, there was an unaddressed chill in the air whenever she brought the topic up. And so, after a while, she had stopped bringing it up.

Her fingertips grazed the keyboard cover, aching to lift it so they could stroke the ivory keys. She couldn’t, of course—what would the Queen say if she found her messing with her piano without permission?— but she longed to play. She missed the thrill of dancing across the keys, that feeling when you had the instrument singing for you perfectly in tune, so much going on at once but knowing that you were perfectly in control. Teki sighed, still unable to tear her eyes from the piano. Oh, it was _so tempting…_

She jumped out of her skin when the door opened.

“Mother?” Prince Loki called. “Father wishes to speak with you. He—” He stopped abruptly when his gaze landed on Teki.

Her eyes dropped to the floor, sinking into a curtsey out of habit. “Prince Loki,” she murmured. For some reason, her cheeks were burning.

Her curtsey seemed to spur Loki to action; he bowed politely. “Lady Teki,” he said. “Forgive me, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

_He remembered my nickname!_

“No worries, my prince,” she replied, looking up again. He was smiling, albeit a bit awkwardly. “I was just waiting for Queen Frigga. She—she asked to see me this morning.”

Loki nodded. “Ah. I see.” They stood there for a few moments, glancing around the room as if searching for something to break the silence. Teki shifted uncomfortably. _Say something!_ she screamed at herself, but it seemed her tongue had turned to lead.

Finally, his gaze landed at the instrument by her side. “Oh, do you play piano?” he asked.

“Oh-uh- I did. Or I used to,” she stuttered, shifting again. “I—haven’t, in a while.”

“My mother tried to teach my brother and me. Neither of us were very good,” he grinned. “I did better than Thor, at least, but that’s not saying much.”

Teki smiled. “I’m sure you don’t give yourself enough credit, my prince.”

“I’m sure you’re just trying to be nice. I was terrible,” Loki laughed, shaking his head. “The only piece I actually learned was this silly little duet I used to play with my mother, and even then I could only do the easy part.”

That sounded familiar. How many songs had she learned by playing alongside her father? Teki’s chest expanded with warmth.

“What duet?” she asked.

“Here, I’ll show you.” He sauntered over to the piano and rolled up the keyboard cover as if it was nothing, as if he was completely unaware of how Teki had been agonizing over that very thing minutes before he walked in. She eyed the Queen’s bedroom door. Would Frigga be upset if she found them disturbing her piano? But if Loki did it so easily, then surely it was allowed, right?

Her anxious line of thought was cut off abruptly as the prince began playing a simple melody with one hand, a string of eight repeated notes that she recognized immediately.

“Wait, I know that!” she cried. “That’s _Elf Song_!”

He nodded. “Yes, _Elf Song_. That’s what it was called. I’d play this, and my mother would do the hard part.”

Teki choked on her own laughter. Oh, this was ridiculous. “What do you mean, ‘hard part’?” she giggled. “The other part is just chords! It’s easy!”

Loki laughed too, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I told you, I’m bad!”

“But it’s _so_ easy—here, I’ll show you.” She sat down next to him on the piano seat without thinking about it, the notes just flowing from her fingertips. Oh, she had missed this, feeling her hands on the keys. It was over far too soon.

“See, that’s hard!” Loki protested. “You’re using both hands! That makes it hard!”

“That’s how you play piano!” Teki cried in amused exasperation. “How can you play piano with only one hand?”

“Like this!” He returned to his chopstick melody. This time, Teki was certain he was making a point of being as stiff as possible. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to control her giggles.

“Here, you do that, I’ll do the chords.” She began playing alongside him. It was terribly disjointed—Loki was completely off tempo and finished way before he was supposed to, but by the time she caught up to him they were both laughing hysterically.

“You’re the worst duet partner I’ve ever had,” she said, wiping the tears from her eyes.

“But I’ll bet I’m the most entertaining,” he smirked.

“Sure, I’ll give you that.” Teki returned the smile. It was nice, just sitting here and laughing about something stupid. Relaxing, almost. For once, she realized suddenly, she didn’t feel nervous about anything.

“You should play a real song,” Loki said, motioning towards the keyboard. “If _Elf Song_ is so beneath you, then let’s see what a _true_ pianist can do.”

Teki hesitated. Fooling around with what was essentially a child’s exercise was one thing, playing an actual _piece_ in front of someone was another. She wasn’t even certain she could remember any of the songs she once had memorized all the way through. She must have taken too long to respond, because Loki was quick to backtrack.

“Or not, if you don’t want to,” he said hurriedly. “I was only jesting, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, that’s fine.” There was something in the way he was looking at her, the pure apologetic sincerity, that made her determined to perform something. “It’s—it’s been a while, since I played, so I—I’m probably rusty, but, uh, here—”

It was funny, because she didn’t remember making the decision to play one of her father’s pieces. At first, she didn’t even realize that she _was_ playing one of her father’s pieces. It just… happened. He had called it _Aster Breeze_ —she remembered when he was writing it, ages ago when she still had to sit on his lap to see the keys.

“Do you hear that, Teki?” he’d ask as he played a new sequence of notes. “That’s the wind in the tree branches. Can you hear the wind?”

All Teki ever could hear was the piano, but if Daddy said there was wind, then there was wind. She nodded vigorously. He laughed as he continued playing.

Now, at the Queen’s piano, the notes flowed through her as if she had never stopped playing them. She still couldn’t hear the wind, but she felt it, tugging her soul forward and enveloping her in the music. It was an exhilaration she had forgotten she missed—by the time she reached the end of the piece, Teki was out of breath and grinning ear-to-ear. 

She turned to Loki, who was watching her with wide eyes. “That was _rusty?_ ” he cried incredulously.

Teki burned. “Well—I—”

“That was absolutely fantastic!” he insisted, breaking into applause. “How can you play all that from memory?”

“I—I don’t know,” she stammered. “I-my father was a court musician, so maybe I got it from him?”

“Well, it was brilliant.” Loki’s tone had a definitive air to it as he nodded. “You should play more often.”

Teki’s heart, which had been soaring high above the trees, crashed back into reality. “Oh—” she mumbled. “I—I can’t—”

“I didn’t know you played, Tekla.” Teki jumped at the regal voice, spinning around so quickly that she nearly tumbled over. Frigga stood in the doorway, her golden curls pulled back behind her head, hands clasped and smile wide.

Heart pounding, Teki sank into a curtsey. “Your Majesty.”

Loki was significantly more amused. “Mother,” he grinned, merely standing in greeting.

“Rise, child, there’s no need for formalities here,” Frigga laughed, moving to sit on the couch and motioning for Teki to join her. “After all, we are to be family sooner than later.” Slowly, Teki followed her on shaking legs.

“Mother,” Loki interjected, voice authoritative and professional. “Father’s finalizing the plans for the Alfheim trip. He wanted to know if you wished to check the dates.”

“Yes, I will,” she affirmed. “I’ll look at those as soon as Lady Tekla and I have finished here.”

Loki nodded. “I’ll tell him to wait to send them in. Mother. Lady _Tekla._ ” With an exaggerated bow and a slight smirk as her official name left his lips, he made to leave. Teki flushed, biting her lip to hold back the giggle. Loki seemed to have a knack for making her smile when she was stressed.

Frigga turned back to her. “Please forgive me for making you wait so long. I was working out the logistics of our upcoming trip and lost track of time.”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind,” Teki said, far too quickly. “Your Majesty.”

Frigga laughed, a melodic tinkle. “Yes, I could tell. It sounded as if the two of you were enjoying yourself.”

Teki’s stomach turned to ice. “Oh, forgive me, Your Majesty,” she stumbled. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Relax, darling, I’m not angry,” Frigga soothed gently, rubbing her shoulder. “I’m glad that someone was appreciating the piano. I’m afraid I don’t give it as much attention as I’d like.” She smiled encouragingly. “And you played so beautifully—how could I be angry? I can’t say I recognize that piece, though.”

Teki forced herself to swallow. “My father wrote it, Your Majesty,” she whispered. “I don’t really think anyone else would recognize it.”

“Your father must be quite talented, then.”

It occurred to Teki that the Queen probably thought she was talking about Osvald, and her heart sank even deeper than it was before. Still, she didn’t bother to correct her.

“I’m surprised Áslaug never mentioned your gift for music,” Frigga continued on, unaware of Teki’s discomfort. “She’s always so eager to sing your praises.”

Teki cringed. The mental picture of her mother obnoxiously bragging about her to the Queen was horrifically easy to conjure.

“Mama—my mother doesn’t like music very much,” she said softly. “I doubt she’d talk about it.”

“Really?” Frigga frowned. “Well, _I_ adore music. Perhaps you could come and play for me every so often?”

“I—” Teki stuttered. The Queen wanted her to play for her? There was something frightening about that thought, but at the same time, something deeply exciting. “If you’d like me to, Your Majesty. I’d be honored.”

“I’d be honored to listen to you,” she beamed. “But now to the matter at hand.” Teki tensed again. “The Summer Festival made me realize that we’ve done a horrible job of including you in our family.”

Norns, she had to have been talking about the dagger ceremony, wasn’t she? That’s what this had to be about. Her long-forgotten nausea from earlier came racing back all at once.

“I’m sorry about that, Your Majesty,” she whispered. “With Thor, and the dagger—”

“No.” Frigga cut her off sternly. “That was not your fault in the least bit, Tekla. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise. It’s we who owe an apology to you.”

Teki frowned. “Thor already apologized, Your Majesty.” It had been an awkward, stilted apology, on the dance floor the night after the dagger ceremony, but it was an apology nonetheless, and more than Teki had expected.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “But I think it’s time we went beyond words. Asgard should learn to see you as its future Queen, just as it sees Thor as its future King.”

“But…” Teki was so confused. “What—how would that happen?”

Frigga smiled. “I think it’s time you began appearing as a part of the royal family. Taking your meals with us, traveling with us, sitting with us, and so forth. I think it would also help you and Thor become better acquainted with each other if you started spending more time together.” She studied her seriously. “Is this something you would be ready for, Tekla?”

Teki’s head was spinning. Becoming a part of the royal family—it was something she had always known to be prepared for, but that had still only lingered in the distance future. Everything was happening too fast. She wasn’t ready for it at all.

But her mother had trained her well. With what she hoped was a glowing smile, she looked straight into the Queen’s cobalt eyes. “I’d be honored, Your Majesty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elf Song is inspired by the piano duet for Heart and Soul, which my piano-playing mother tried to teach to my not piano-playing siblings and me. I never could get the chords part. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, feel free to check out my Tumblr (@cozy-the-overlord)!


	3. The Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner with the royal family is... about what Teki expected.

Her first night as part of the royal family found Teki with trembling palms and a gurgling stomach, fighting to maintain the appearance of composure. Her family didn’t seem to notice her anxiety—in fact, her mother seemed to be having the time of her life before they even left for dinner.

“See?” she beamed at Osvald as she spun Teki around in her new red dress. “It’s finally happening! She’s finally getting the recognition she deserves!”

Osvald studied her with a glittering gaze. Teki was careful to keep her own eyes glued to the floorboards. At some point in the last week, although he hadn’t said when, her stepfather had finally caved to the pain and visited the healers. Her mother had sighed in relief at this news, but Teki had to clasp her hands behind her back to stop them from shaking.

“How wonderful,” he said, smiling. He reached out to stroke a bit of loose hair that her mother hadn’t braided into her bun. His hands were cold on her cheek. “Then I’m certain everyone will be on their best behavior tonight, won’t we?”

Teki nodded. “Yes, sir.”

She was still trembling as she made her way to the royal tables in the feast hall. Stepping on to the raised platform didn’t help. Sure, the feast hall wasn’t nearly as large as the Great Hall, which was used only for festivals and celebrations, but everything seems bigger when you’re standing above it. Hundreds of pairs of eyes held her in their scrutiny. Teki thought she would be sick.

Her seat was at Thor’s right. Unsurprising—he was her fiancé after all, and he always sat at King Odin’s right. But this arrangement also put her at the end of the table, so that her only possible partner for conversation was the Crown Prince. Was that intentional as well?

If it was a ploy to get Thor and her to talk more, it didn’t work. The prince spent most of the dinner in raucous discussion with his father, as if completely ignorant of Teki’s presence at his elbow. They were very loud. Thor’s shouts rumbled the table and pierced Teki’s skull in a way that made the nausea even worse. She spent dinner trying to choke down a slice of bread.

It was weird, thinking about how she was going to marry Thor someday. She knew he was her elder only by a few years but… he _seemed_ so much older. He was so tall, so muscular, with a voice that carried across the hall even when he wasn’t yelling. Just sitting next to him made Teki feel unbearably small. Only a few years between them, but he was already a man, and she still felt like a little girl.

At first, when people started getting up to dance, she feared that Thor would ask her as his partner. There was no way Teki would be able to turn down an offer from the prince, but she was barely holding herself together as it was. However, it seemed her worries were unwarranted. Thor got up without so much as a word to her and nearly flew to Lady Sif’s table amongst the nobles. Had she been feeling a bit better, Teki would have been concerned that Osvald had seen it, but all she felt in the moment was relief.

_I’m going to be such a horrible Queen._

It seemed that the night had gone on forever. Everyone was shouting, laughing, dancing, having the absolute time of their life, while Teki only sank lower into her chair. When she sat with her mother, they could leave any time they wanted to. Nobody paid her any mind—she could slip out easily and no one noticed the difference. But here, she was on display for everyone. Here, everyone saw everything she did. It wasn’t fair. Her eyes burned. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want _any_ of this.

Teki jumped when someone plopped themselves down in Thor’s seat, but it wasn’t her fiancé. Loki grinned at her with his sparkling emerald eyes.

“So, Lady Teki, how do you like looking down upon the masses,” he smirked.

Teki forced a smile. “I-I think it’s something I’ll have to get used to, my prince.” Her voice was pathetically small, and she cursed herself.

But Loki was kind enough not comment on her pitifulness. “Oh, I understand,” he agreed. “I imagine this setup is quite jarring.” Leaning in, he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Don’t tell anyone, but I still get dizzy up here sometimes.”

Teki exhaled a quiet giggle. She was fairly certain he was only trying to cheer her up, but the thought that the prince got as sick to his stomach as she felt somehow made her feel like less of a failure. “Your secret is safe with me, my prince.”

“I knew I could trust you.” He laughed softly, motioning towards the tables below them. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but your brother has been trying to get your attention all night long.”

She frowned. “What?” Following his finger, her gaze landed on Brant, who was sitting the wrong way in his chair, frantically waving. When he saw her looking, he jumped and waved even harder. Teki laughed as she returned the wave.

“Has he really been doing that all night?” she asked. She couldn’t imagine that Osvald and her mother would be pleased with him making such a scene, but it seemed her mother was busy conversing with the ladies around her and Osvald was nowhere to be seen.

“I noticed him shortly after the meal began,” Loki chuckled. “He hasn’t stopped since then.”

“Oh Brant.” Teki wondered who cut his meat for him. She couldn’t imagine Osvald doing it. She couldn’t really imagine her mother doing it, either.

The two of them sat on the platform for a while, talking about nothing in particular. Loki carried most of the conversation, telling her the most hilarious stories about his classes—spells that ricocheted off the golden doorframe, potions that overflowed and contaminated the whole room, pranks that he played on the teachers to show off his talent. Some of them were so ridiculous that Teki found herself wondering if he was making them up to make her laugh, but she didn’t question him.

“There’s one woman, Lady Alda,” he was saying, gesturing animatedly as he told the story. “Horrible old hag—she’s the type who gets upset if you read ahead. She believes if she hasn’t taught it yet, then you’re not allowed to know it. I didn’t like that very much, so I read ahead to the transformation section. She had acted as if transformation is the most difficult skill you’ll ever learn, but it’s actually quite easy. So, I taught myself how to do it, and in the middle of class I turned her desk into a dead rat.”

“Loki!” Teki laughed incredulously.

“That’s not the best part! She turns to me and starts demanding that I undo it, shouting so loudly the walls shook The vein was popping out of her forehead, her hair was wild—I swear, she looked like a troll. And I looked her right in the eye and said ‘But Lady Alda, you haven’t taught us transformation yet!’”

Teki was somewhere between enthralled and horrified. “What did she do?”

Loki shrugged. “She told my father. That’s all they ever do. They’re afraid to try anything else.”

She pictured Odin, with his untamed beard and deafening shout. “What did your father do?”

“Oh, he got mad,” Loki said nonchalantly, flicking a crumb off his sleeve. “Yelled at me for my ‘unprincely conduct.’ Nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious,” Teki echoed softly. She wondered what Osvald would do if one of her teachers told him she had been acting out in class. The thought terrified her.

Loki had gone very quiet. Gently, he reached out to touch her wrist. “I—I meant to ask,” he cleared his throat. “Everything’s all right, right? I mean, with your family. Everything’s all right?”

Teki burned. “Yes, yes, of course,” she said quickly, her voice jumping an octave higher. “Everything’s fine. Nothing wrong at all.”

“That’s good.” His gaze had grown far more concerned, but there was relief mixed in with the green of his eyes. “That’s good. I’m glad to hear it. I just—I wanted to make sure—”

She nodded furiously. “I understand.”

Loki looked as if he was going to say something else, but Thor was rushing up the steps of the platform, shouting his name.

“Loki!” He grabbed at his brother’s shoulders, still seemingly oblivious to Teki’s presence. “Come! Volstagg and I are trying an experiment, we need your help—”

The younger prince squirmed out of Thor’s grasp. “Now?”

“Yes, now!” He tried pulling Loki to his feet. “We need an illusionist!”

“I—” he was able to shoot one apologetic glance to Teki before Thor had completely pulled him out of his seat. “Let go of me already! I’m coming.”

Teki studied her fingernails in her lap as the two princes clattered back down the steps. She suddenly felt very lonely.

…

“Can you read that one to me now?”

Brant cocked his head, brow furrowed at the line of writing. He and Teki were on her bedroom floor, pages spread around them covered in Teki’s careful lettering. They had been there all morning—Teki patiently helping him through longer words and sentences. Maybe it was just her, but she thought her little brother was making some definite improvement.

“Tah—Tah—”

Teki shook her head. “Remember what we said about the t and the h?” she asked, pointing at the paper. “What sound do they make when they’re together?”

Brant’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Thhh!” he hissed excitedly, spittle flying all over the page. Teki snickered.

“So what does it say?”

“Thhh—the. The!” he grinned. “The wi—the wis—”

The slamming of the door cut him off abruptly. Voices echoed from downstairs, ricocheting off the walls. They both tensed.

“You sit there and give me nothing and then you expect me to listen to you when you’re going on about your—”

“Oh, I don’t expect you to listen to me, Áslaug. You never fucking listen to me—”

“Stop yelling! You’re always fucking yelling!”

“You think this is yelling? I’ll show you yelling—”

Brant whimpered as the sound of something shattering against the wall rattled the air. Teki inhaled.

“Come, get your shoes on,” she whispered, slowly pulling him to his feet. If they were quiet enough, Osvald and her mother might not even realize they were home. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Teki had learned long ago to appreciate the ivy outside her bedroom window. Her mother would beat her herself if she knew how often her daughter climbed down the side of the apartment, dress fluttering above her ankles, but it was a risk worth taking. The vines were strong, and they led directly into the royal gardens—the perfect escape.

She went first, guiding Brant down behind her. He wasn’t nearly as agile as she was, but he knew where the right footholds were, and he knew better than to cry out if he slipped. They reached the ground in silence, the cacophony of battle still reverberating behind them.

It was a warm day. Teki pulled Brant through the grass and on to the garden paths. There were only a few hours until dinner—hopefully things would have calmed down by then. Her parents’ arguments usually flamed out fairly quickly. Osvald’s temper had a tendency to linger, however, and Teki knew better than to risk crossing his path while he was angry.

_Maybe sitting with the royal family isn’t so bad after all._

Ahead of them, the courtyard was alive with shouts. There was a crowd gathered, chanting and cheering and jumping up and down.

“What’s going on over there?” Brant whispered.

Teki would have preferred to avoid the commotion, but she let her brother pull her towards the pack. They were watching a fight, it seemed—two figures were going at it in the middle of a hastily drawn ring, rushing at each other with giant sticks.

 _Oh_. Teki winced. They must have been practicing for the Games. It was the only time she ever saw those kinds of weighted staffs in use. The Games were an end-of-summer tradition, where all the worthy men of the court would show off their prowess as a warrior and might as a man by jumping into an arena and defeating their opponent in a series of different duels. It wasn’t as much an exercise in strength as it was a display of brutality—usually, the loser was carried out of the arena a bloody mess. Teki spent those days with her head buried in her hands, only occasionally peeking through her fingers when it seemed safe to look.

It was a moment before she recognized Thor, shirtless as he wielded his staff, sparring with another blond she didn’t know. His partner was panting like a dog, but Thor looked as if he hadn’t broken a sweat. Blow by blow, he beat his opponent back in the ring, pushing, pummeling, dominating… until the boy fell backwards, holding his hands up in surrender.

Thor laughed, slamming his staff on the ground. “Is that truly your best effort, Fandral?” he asked as he extended a hand. “I’ve seen some of my mother’s ladies put up a better fight than that!” The crowd snickered with him.

_Thor and Osvald would get along well._

She wasn’t sure where the thought came from, but it sunk in like a stone in her stomach. Teki swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Come on, Brant,” she mumbled, pulling at his arm. “Let’s—”

“Hah!”

Teki shrieked at the sudden presence behind her. She flipped around just in time to smack into Prince Loki’s leather chest. He laughed as he reached out to steady her.

For a moment, all she could hear was her pulse pounding in her eardrums. “My prince,” she said shakily, forgetting to curtsey. “You scared me!”

“Many apologies my lady,” Loki grinned, looking anything _but_ apologetic. “I suppose you were too engrossed in your betrothed’s performance to notice me approaching.”

“No, I—” she stuttered. Why did that statement make her feel _guilty_? “I was just taking my brother out for a stroll, my prince.” She pulled at Brant’s shoulder, who upon Loki’s appearance had taken shelter behind her legs. For some reason, it was critically important that Loki know she hadn’t come here just to watch Thor.

“Ahh.” The prince kneeled to smile at her brother. “And how do you do today, Lord Brant?”

Brant shrank further back behind her legs. “Good,” he mumbled.

Teki flushed with embarrassment, but Loki only laughed. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. Behind them, Thor was challenging someone else to another sparring session.

“Don’t be a coward! What kind of warrior runs from a fight?”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Would you like to walk down to the lake?” he asked. “It’s much more peaceful there. Unless you’d prefer to stay for this madness.”

A crash shook the ground beneath their feet as Thor body slammed his next victim into the dirt. Teki cringed. “The lake sounds lovely, my prince.”

It was funny how easy it was to fall into conversation with Loki. They drifted from topic to topic almost lazily as they made their way across the grounds—how nice the weather had been, how strange it was that Teki was sitting with the royal family now, how overdramatic Thor could be about his training. When they reached their destination, Loki was telling her about his family’s upcoming trip to Alfheim.

“I’m really excited,” he said animatedly. “I’ve only gone once, and I was too young to properly remember much. Father usually takes only Thor when he travels.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Teki smiled. She smoothed out her skirt as they reclined on the grassy banks. There was the slightest breeze rippling through the water, sending tiny ripples to lap against the dirt. The effect was almost hypnotic. “Alfheim’s a beautiful planet.”

“Oh,” Loki looked up eagerly. “Have you been?”

“Oh, no—I—” Teki faltered. _Not supposed to talk about_ this. “My father lived there for a while,” she finally said. “He used to tell me about it.”

She could almost hear him reminiscing in her head. _Alfheim is where music lives_ , he used to say. _It sleeps in the trees and dances through the air like a bird. Someday I’ll show you, Teki._ Her eyes prickled with tears, but she blinked them away.

“That’s fascinating.” Loki leaned in closer, continuing hesitantly. “Was he—was your father Elvish?”

“Oh no, he was Asgardian. He just traveled around a lot.” She frowned, trying to retrieve the memory. “I think he lived in Vanaheim for a little bit too.”

Loki sighed. He dug his fingers into the grass, tearing at the delicate stalks. “I wish I lived in Vanaheim. That’s where all the most talented magicians study. My mother studied there, for a time.”

“Then why can’t you go?” she asked. She didn’t understand why he looked so forlorn—she couldn’t imagine any magic teacher would turn him down, considering how effortlessly he healed her rib during the Summer Festival.

“Father won’t let me!” he groaned, chucking his handful of grass into lake. “It’s beyond frustrating—I’m more than qualified, but he won’t have it. He says my place is on Asgard and that I shouldn’t be running across the Nine Realms just to chase a hobby.” With a huff, he leaned back against the embankment.

Teki didn’t know how to respond to that. “Well, maybe he’s just waiting until you’re older,” she supplied unhelpfully.

“Maybe.” But she could tell that he wasn’t convinced.

Brant, who had been silent up to this point, tugged on her sleeve.

“He can do magic?” he whispered in her ear. She giggled, squirming from his hot breath. Under any other circumstances, she’d be embarrassed by her brother’s lack of propriety, but for some reason, it didn’t feel out of line in this instance.

“Why don’t you ask him?” she whispered back.

Brant looked up at her with wide eyes, shrinking back behind her again. Teki nudged him gently towards Loki. He glanced back at her again before gulping in a deep breath.

“Can—can you do magic?” he asked, stumbling as he avoided eye contact with the prince.

Loki smiled. “I can, as a matter of fact. Would you like to see?”

Brant nodded shyly. Loki motioned him over, cupping her brother’s tiny hands together. “I want you to hold your hands like this very carefully,” he said, very seriously. “I’m going to give you the magic, but you can’t let go. Alright?” Brant nodded again, brow furrowed in concentration as he stared at his palms. Teki scooted over so she could have a better view of what was happening.

“Now, close your eyes and count to three,” he continued. Brant closed his eyes. “One, two, three!”

Teki gasped. Suddenly, her brother was holding what could only be described as liquid light. It gleamed in his palms, illuminating his face in a yellow glow and glistening in the reflection of his cornflower eyes. His face broke into a wide grin.

“Magic!” he breathed in awe.

Loki chuckled at their astonishment. “Blow on it,” he told Brant. “Go ahead.” Brant blew softly into his hands. The light rippled like water, lapping against his fingertips. He giggled.

“It tickles, Teki!” he whispered.

Teki was mesmerized. “What is that?”

“It’s just a light source. They use it a lot with younger students, because it’s not as difficult to control as fire.” Loki circled his hand once around Brant’s, a quick flick of the wrist. Slowly, the light drained into nothingness. “It was one of the first tricks my mother taught me.”

Brant was turning his hands over and over, as if he was surprised to find them unchanged. “Can you grant wishes?” he asked excitedly.

Both Loki and Teki snorted. “You mean like a Midgardian genie?” he laughed. “I suppose it depends. What wish would you like granted?”

“I wish I had wings!” he cried, leaning forward with a wide grin. “Can you give me wings?” Loki glanced at Teki quizzically. She frowned. Where was this coming from?

“What do you need wings for?” the prince asked.

“Because then I could fly, and sit really high up in the trees, and when I want to go somewhere I could just fly, and then when everything’s bad I can take Teki and fly away so we can live in the clouds until everything gets better again.” He inhaled. “So can you give me wings?”

Teki swallowed. She could feel Loki’s eyes on her, feel the pity in his gaze, and she couldn’t bring herself to meet it. “That wouldn’t work, Brant,” she said thickly. “Clouds are just mist. You can’t live on a cloud. You’d fall right through.”

“Oh.” Brant deflated, sitting back on his knees.

“I’ll look for a spell to give you wings, Brant,” Loki promised, voice soft. “And maybe I’ll find a cloud you can live on, too. There’s all sorts of strange things in the universe.”

Teki stood up. She couldn’t bear this anymore. “We should be getting back,” she said. “We need—we need to get ready for dinner.” _Hopefully they’re not still throwing things._ Brant stood up obediently, taking her hand.

Loki scrambled to his feet as well. “I can walk you back, if you like?”

“Oh, no—that’s—” Her heart ached at the way his face fell, but her blood ran cold at the idea of Osvald catching her running around with the wrong prince. “Thank you, my prince, but I don’t think that would be necessary.”

“Of course, of course.” Loki bowed slightly, his hands awkwardly fumbling with his sleeves. “Then… I’ll see you at dinner, I suppose?”

Teki forced a smile. “See you at dinner, my prince.”

They walked away, Brant still clutching her palm. Her brother had the right idea, she realized. She too wished they would grow wings and fly away to the clouds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this story, feel free to check out my Tumblr (@cozy-the-overlord)!


	4. The Indiscretion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Loki's Nameday Feast gets a little out of hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, when I write stories, I usually follow a very strict, detailed, scene-by-scene outline-- otherwise, I loose track of what I'm supposed to be doing. I had one such outline for Dances and Daggers (if you follow my Tumblr, you would've seen me freaking out about a 9 page outline-- that was for this). However, when writing this chapter, Teki and Loki just... decided not to follow it. I was writing it with a specific plan in mind, and they were were just like "nope!" and went and did their own thing. So... yeah. This chapter looks very different than I originally planned. I'm kind of nervous about posting it, but it was a fun writing experience, and I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)

“You look beautiful, Tekla,” her mother was saying. Teki inhaled sharply as she yanked a brush through her hair. “Everyone will adore you.”

She studied her reflection—or, more accurately, she studied the scarlet gown in her reflection.

“Mama,” she whispered. “Shouldn’t I be wearing green?” It was a losing battle and she knew it, but the thought of being the only one dressed in red was mortifying enough to make her fight it.

“Nonsense. Why would you wear anything but your betrothed’s colors?” Her mother twisted her hair into an elegant bun, Teki flinching as she shoved pins in too close to her scalp. “Tekla, stay still.”

“But it’s Prince Loki’s Nameday Feast,” she pleaded, still keeping her voice low enough so that Osvald couldn’t hear her complaining from the next room. “ _Everyone’s_ going to be wearing green—”

“Then you’ll stand out, as you should.” She patted her shoulder. “Well, are you ready?”

Teki stared into the mirror, her reflection only returning her misery.

…

Everyone was wearing green.

Teki slunk through the Great Hall with her head down, praying to the Norns or anyone listening that everyone was too distracted with their own problems to notice her, a bloodstain on a beautiful emerald tapestry. When she saw Thor approaching, she knew even that was too much to ask.

“Lady Tekla,” he said, bowing. “Would you honor me with this dance?”

She curtseyed, holding back a sigh. “It is I who would be honored, my prince.”

It was a short song, but somehow the dance lasted for eternity. They moved together stiffly, not saying a word, Teki’s gaze never rising above her partner’s chest. Somehow, she knew Thor had only asked her to satisfy the demands of his parents. That was all right, she told herself. After all, she only accepted to satisfy the demands of hers. _Hopefully Mama and Osvald are watching_. Still, she found herself thinking about the night Loki had given her his dagger, how nice it had felt to know that someone had asked her to dance simply because they wanted to dance with her.

When the music came to a close, he bowed, she curtseyed, and they both went their separate ways. Lurking at the refreshment table, she watched her fiancé rush to ask that same girl to dance. Sif. Who trained with the boys in the courtyard. She was saying something with a smirk on her face. Thor burst into laughter, his cackles booming across the room like a drum.

Teki bit her lip. Loki had told her that Sif was nothing more than a passing fancy, but she couldn’t imagine herself ever making Thor laugh like that. She couldn’t imagine herself ever making Thor laugh at all. She had always told herself that would change, that when the time came, they would learn to love each other and be happy together, but… what if it didn’t? Was this going to be the rest of her life—forced curtseys and stiff dances, smiling for the crowd before slipping away alone when it ended?

“Having a good time?”

Teki jumped. Prince Loki grinned, reaching out to steady her.

“Why do you always do that?” she whispered.

He chuckled. “Forgive me, my lady. This time was unintentional.”

 _This time_. There was a snarky reply right on the edge of her lips, but Teki caught herself.

“Happy Nameday, my prince,” she said

He nodded, his green eyes never leaving hers. “Thank you.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Teki was the first to look away.

“Have—have you had a good Nameday, my prince?” she asked awkwardly.

Loki shrugged. “No different than all the previous, I suppose,” he said. “Namedays are rather exhausting, really. I don’t need a feast to remind the world that I exist.”

There was something in his eyes, a darkness that Teki couldn’t quite read, but she could tell he was upset. “I can understand that,” she said softly. “But sometimes a little reminder is nice, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps,” he mused, staring into the distance. “And yet it seems people forget regardless.” Suddenly his head snapped back to her. “I’m going to the lake. Do you want to come?”

Teki’s brain short-circuited. “I— _what?_ ”

“I’m going to the lake in the gardens,” he repeated. “Do you want to come with me?”

“But—you mean—” she stuttered, glancing around wildly. “We can’t just _leave_.”

“Sure we can. I do it all the time.”

“But— _how?_ ” _How was he so nonchalant about this?_ “What if someone notices?”

“No one ever notices as these things.” He motioned to the room, to the couples on the dancefloor, clusters of people conversing in the corners, servants rushing through the crowd with trays of beverages. “Just look around—everyone’s living in their own little world.

Teki didn’t say anything. Her mind was whirring. Besides her, Loki ran a hand through his raven hair, shifting uncomfortably.

“You—you don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” he said. The cocksure confidence seemed to have drained from his voice, leaving only hesitancy. “I—I don’t mean to pressure you. It’s just—it’s nice having someone to talk to.”

She frowned. This was a terrible idea. If someone saw that she was gone, if they told Osvald… this was a terrible idea. She _knew_ it was a terrible idea. But Loki was right, likely more so than he realized. _It is nice having someone to talk to._

Teki inhaled. “My stepfather—” her voice dropped to a whisper, as if merely mentioning his name could summon him. “We’d have to get back before he sees I’m gone, all right?”

He nodded vigorously, matching her urgent tone. “Of course. He’ll never know, I promise.”

“Okay,” she breathed. She couldn’t see any of her family from where they stood, which only exacerbated her fear that Osvald was going to pop out of the shadows and demand to know what she was doing.

Almost shyly, Loki offered her his hand. She took with equal timidity, her heart racing as his cold fingers closed around hers. _What was wrong with her today?_

She let him pull her out of the hall, through corridors she hadn’t realized even existed, until somehow they were standing outside, the warm summer air kissing her cheeks. Her pulse was thrumming.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this!” she murmured. It was madness. Tekla Osvalddottir didn’t sneak out in the middle of a feast to run around the gardens with a boy who was decidedly not her fiancé. But then again, she wasn’t Tekla Osvalddottir.

“It’s fun, isn’t it?” Loki asked. “Out here, you can actually hear yourself think.” He was right. The air was beautifully still. The only sounds she could hear were the crickets chirping in the distance. They made their way around the perimeter of the lake, eventually landing on the wooden dock that stretched out across the glittering water. For a while, they didn’t say anything.

“How often do you do this?” she asked after a bit. “You know, slipping away?”

Loki kicked at a pebble on the dock. “Oh, I don’t know. A lot. I don’t do it every time, but sometimes it’s just too much.” He laughed drily. “In case you can’t tell, I don’t particularly care for parties.”

“Not even your Nameday parties?”

“ _Especially_ not the Nameday parties! They’re so frustrating. Everyone’s pretending that they’re all celebrating for you, but they’re just looking for an excuse to get drunk.” He kicked the pebble one last time, watching as it plopped into the water below. “It’s all so fake. No one actually cares.”

Teki hesitated. There was something bothering him, definitely, but she didn’t know how to address it. How do you make someone feel better when you don’t know what’s causing them to feel bad in the first place?

“Well… I care,” she finally mumbled. The words hung awkwardly in the air, waiting for her to complete the thought, but Teki didn’t know what else to say.

Loki turned back to her. There were still pinpricks of bitterness in his emerald eyes, but they were slowly being overcome by a mischievous smirk. “Says the only person not swathed in my color.”

Teki burned. She _knew_ everyone would notice. “That’s not my fault! My mother made me.” She scowled. “I _wanted_ to wear green.”

His smirk widened. “Oh really? Were you going to dance with your fiancé wearing another’s color?” He covered his mouth in mock horror. “How scandalous!”

She rolled her eyes. “No more _scandalous_ than sneaking away from your own feast, your highness.”

“True.” He wiggled his eyebrows, leaning in slowly. “This is all _quite_ scandalous when you think about it.”

Teki giggled. “Stop it.” She shoved his chest playfully. It wasn’t that hard—her hands only just grazed his leather top—and yet, Loki flew backwards as if he had been hit by a skiff and tumbled over the side of the dock with a theatrical cry. Water splashed over the wood, soaking the bottom part of her skirt.

At first, Teki could only sputter. What just happened? She _barely_ touched him, what was he _thinking_?

“Loki!” She peered over the edge of the dock into the rippling water. There was no sign of the prince. “Loki, what are you doing?”

It was a prank. It had to be a prank. The lake wasn’t even that deep, there was no way he couldn’t surface. But as the seconds ticked by, with no change in the inky waves, panic began to lodge in the back of Teki’s throat.

“Loki?” she called again, alarmed. What if he hit his head? Should she go in after him? Should she get somebody? How long would it take her to get back to the Great Hall? What if he stuck at the bottom and drowning? She knelt on the dock, leaning over as far as she could. “Lok—”

Without a warning, the prince shot out of the water like a leaping dolphin, grabbing ahold of her shoulders and yanking her down with him. The lake muffled her screams as she thrashed around like a wounded animal, desperately trying to surface. By the time she did she was shaking, gulping air like an addict. Behind her, Loki was chortling.

“You—” Teki didn’t have words. Droplets trickled down the sides of her face, her hair falling out its bun, her scarlet sleeves clinging to her arms like a clammy second skin. “What—you—” she screeched like a bird. “Why would you do that?”

Loki only laughed harder.

She couldn’t believe this. The dress her mother had so carefully and so adamantly picked out was soaked—there was no way she could possibly return to the feast without causing a scene. Teki’s breath was coming too fast.

Why did she agree to go with Loki? _Why?_

“I—stop laughing!” she snapped, voice breaking. Loki fell quiet abruptly. Teki’s eyes were heating up. She blinked frantically, but the heat was climbing her throat as well. “My parents are going to kill me!” she whimpered.

Loki looked stricken. He swam toward her, hands outstretched. “Teki, I—”

She splashed water in his face. “Why would you do that?” she sobbed. “ _Why_?”

“I was just—I meant it as a joke—”

“Well, it wasn’t funny!” she gulped. “How—how am I going to explain this?” _He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me…_

Loki reached out again cautiously. This time, she didn’t bother to push him away.

“Here, please.” Gently, he guided her towards the bank. She stumbled as they walked out of the water, the weight of her wet dress pulling her down. When she tripped on the uneven ground, Loki grabbed her to keep her from falling.

Water cascaded into the grass as she tried to wring her skirt out. Norns, she’d never be dry.

“Here,” Loki repeated. He was holding out a towel. _Where…_ oh. Right. Magic.

Shakily, Teki tried to wipe away the sopping mess she had turned into. Loki watched with a shamefaced expression.

“It should dry fairly quickly,” he said softly. “It’s a warm night. By the time we get back no one will know the difference.”

She shook her head. “He will.” _He always knows._

“I’ll put an illusion over you,” Loki insisted. “You’ll look exactly as you did when you arrived tonight. No one will tell the difference, I swear.”

Teki looked up at him. The prince hadn’t bothered to make any effort to dry himself. Water pooled at his feet as it streamed down the sides of his leather armor, streaking the gold embellishments. Black strands of hair clung to his cheeks, his forehead creased with guilt. She inhaled.

“Can we go somewhere else?” she asked quietly. The lake had lost its serenity.

He nodded. “Of course.”

“Well, well, well. What’s going on over here?” They both whipped around to see a figure stumbling down the embankment, illuminated by the moonlight.

Loki stiffened. “Fandral.”

“I was wondering where the little prince had gotten to,” the boy called Fandral laughed. There was something in his tone that Teki didn’t like. “You stopped sulking in the corner, I see.” He took a wrong step as he navigated the slope and was nearly the third person to end up in the lake that night, but righted himself just in time.

Teki was frozen. She recognized this Fandral—he was the same person who Thor had been pummeling in the courtyard a few weeks ago. What if he told the Crown Prince what his fiancé was up to when she wasn’t dancing with him? What if Thor told Osvald?

“Thor’s not here, Fandral,” Loki said tightly. “I haven’t seen him all night.”

“Aha. I get it. The little prince wants to be alone with his lady friend,” he smirked, aiming a wink at Teki that sent chills down her spine. He turned back to Loki. “Aren’t you a little young to be making girls wet?”

Teki flushed, and Fandral burst out into laughter. Loki grabbed her hand and started pulling her back towards the palace. “Come on. We’re leaving.”

“Wait, wait. I haven’t met the lady yet.” Fandral pushed towards her, leaning down so that his face was inches from hers. His breath stank of wine. “What’s your name, kitten?”

Teki smacked him.

What happened next was a blur. Fandral stumbled backwards, cursing. Loki yanked her arm—“Come on!”—and then they were sprinting across the palace grounds, the night air whistling through their wet clothing. They didn’t stop until they reached the noble apartments, at which point they collapsed on the grass in a panting, giggling mess.

“Oh my goodness,” she gasped. “I can’t believe I did that!”

“The look on his face!” Loki choked. “Did you see the look on his face?”

“I hit him!” she heaved, still trying to comprehend. “I can’t believe I hit him!”

Loki clapped his hands. “He deserved it. That was beautiful—”

“Is he going to tell everybody now?” The thought dampened her excitement. _I’m going to have a criminal record by the time this night is through._ “Am I going to get in trouble?”

The prince shook his head. “Don’t worry. Even if he is sober enough to remember what happened, he won’t tell anyone.” He snorted. “It wouldn’t do for the realm to know that Fandral the Dashing got slapped in the face by a girl.”

“What was he doing away from the feast anyways?” she asked. He hardly seemed like the type to abandon a party.

“I wouldn’t know. Looking for fun perhaps? Or maybe he just got lost.” Loki stood up, offering Teki his hand. She let him pull her to her feet as well. “We still need to dry off,” he said apologetically.

“Wait. My apartment’s right around the corner. We can dry off in there.” She pulled him towards her window. Climbing the ivy wall shouldn’t be an issue—if Teki could do it, then surely the prince wouldn’t have any trouble. She tried not to think about how Osvald would react if he knew she was alone in their rooms with a boy.

Loki frowned, but followed her just the same. “But we can’t get in from here, can we?” he asked. “Don’t we have to go through the main palace?”

“No, there’s another way,” she said, gripping the vines as she reached the wall. She had never done this after dark before, but luckily the light of the moon was bright enough to see clearly. Teki pulled herself onto a foothold.

Behind her, Loki’s eyes were wide. “You’re going to climb that?”

“Sure. I do it all the time.” She pulled herself up the vine, bracing her feet against the wall. Going up was much more difficult than going down.

When Teki glanced back, she realized Loki hadn’t left the ground. “Are you coming?”

“I—” Loki was staring pointedly at the ground, ears pink. “I’ll wait, until you’ve made it in.”

She frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“Um—” he glanced up, then quickly snapped his gaze back to the grass. “It’s—it’s just—” he motioned towards her as her dress fluttered in the breeze.

What was he—oh. _Oh_. He was trying to avoid looking up her skirt. Teki flushed.

 _Well, at least he’s nice enough not to look_.

She scrambled up the rest of the wall as quickly as she could and pulled on the window. It didn’t budge.

_What?_

She pulled again. What was wrong? Teki never latched this window. Could her mother have done it? Certainly Osvald and Brant wouldn’t have—Osvald never came in her room and Brant didn’t know how. She pulled once more, this time with even more force.

“What is it?” Loki yelled from the ground.

She sighed. “I think my mother latched the window.”

“Oh, is that all? I can handle that.” Teki looked down just in time to see him flick his wrist. In front of her, the latch fell open. Her eyes widened.

“Wow!”

Loki laughed. “Thor hates that I know that trick.”

She pushed open the window and pulled herself into her room. A few moments later, Loki followed. He went to dry off best he could in the bathroom while fixed her appearance in front of the mirror in her room. He had been right about one thing—the warm air worked in their favor. Teki’s hair was almost completely dry. She quickly brushed through it and twisted it back into its bun—it wasn’t quite as precise as her mother’s work, but hopefully she wouldn’t notice. She realized as she was pinning it down that she must have lost a few pins back in the lake. Hopefully her mother wouldn’t notice that either.

Her dress, however, was a disaster. Not only was it still soaked, but the hem was stained from sitting in the dirt for too long. She peeled it off, making sure to stuff it down the dirty clothes chute before anyone else had time to notice. She’d just have to put on another scarlet dress and, again, hope that no one noticed.

It was only then that Teki realized she had another problem. While she had no shortage of scarlet dresses, she had failed to consider the _type_ of scarlet dresses. The one she had been wearing had a sealed back—she could simply pull it over her head to wear without worrying about buttons or laces. All her other scarlet gowns had lacing on the back that somebody had to tie off for her to wear.

 _Oh no_.

The panic was coming back, but Teki forced herself to breath. What were her options? She could wear one of her other sealed back dresses—but they were less formal, and the wrong color. It would be abundantly clear to anyone who saw her that she had changed for some reason. _No, no_.

She could try to get the original dress out of the chute, clean it up best she could, and wear it. Teki checked the black abyss into which she had tossed the gown moments ago, praying that it had caught on the way down. Nope. She reached into the darkness as far as she could—no sign of the dress.

She could stay in the apartment—tell her parents that she hadn’t been feeling well and left the feast early. But that wasn’t a real option. Osvald would see through that _instantly_. She shivered.

That left only one alternative.

“Loki?”

“Yes?” he called from the sitting room.

“Could—could you come in and help me with something?”

The door cracked open and Loki peeked in. “What can I do?”

“I—” Her cheeks were on fire. The dress covered her up—everything but her back, that is—but still she felt so exposed. “Could you lace the back for me?” She turned around so he could see.

“Oh—I—” Loki faltered, taking a step back. “I don’t know how to—”

“Please, it’s—it’s not hard, it’s—it’s just like lacing boots.” _Norns, kill me now_. “Please,” she added.

For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to do it. But then, slowly, he made his way across the room, hesitantly taking the laces into his hands.

“Like lacing boots?” he asked.

Teki gulped. “Yes—the crisscross.”

At first, he fumbled with the eyeholes a bit, but he picked up the idea fairly quickly. It was only when he was halfway down her back that another problem became apparent.

“You’re—you’re not doing it tight enough,” she spluttered.

He wavered. “You want it tighter? I don’t want to hurt you—”

“If it’s not tight enough, the dress won’t stay up,” Teki interjected.

“But—”

“It’s all right. I’ll tell you if it’s too tight.” _Please, just let this end._

Uncertainly, Loki pulled more at the lacings, stopping the moment Teki winced.

“Are you—”

“It’s fine—keep going.”

It was an eternity before he finally tied off the laces at the bottom. When she turned around, she found that his cheeks were as red as hers. Teki slipped into an awkward curtsey.

“Thank you, my prince,” she mumbled. She wasn’t sure why she had suddenly fallen back into formal titles when they were in possibly the least formal situation she could ever imagine, but here she was.

Loki cleared his throat. “Perhaps it’s time we—”

The downstairs door slammed open.

“Tekla!”

Teki felt all the color drain from her face.

She heard Osvald’s footsteps on the stairs. “Are you in here, you little bitch?”

Her breath was coming too fast, so fast her vision was going dark in the corners.

_He’s going to find us. He’s going to find us both in here._

Loki was whispering her name, rubbing her shoulders and saying something else, but all Teki could hear was the pounding of impending doom as it opened her bedroom door. Loki clapped his hand over her mouth just as Osvald walked in.

She expected his eyes to narrow, his brow to deepen. She expected him to drag her by the neck down the hall and demand to know what the _Hel_ she thought she was doing gallivanting about the palace the wrong prince. She expected him to throw her on the ground, or into the wall, or down the stairs, expected him to curse as he hit her, to tell her how she brought it upon herself, to demand that she clean up the mess her blood has made on the floor before her mother saw it and got upset.

But none of that happened.

Instead, her stepfather surveyed the room with a frown, looking straight at them as if they weren’t even there.

“Fucking Hel,” he muttered as he closed the door again.

Teki stood there shaking as his steps echoed back down the stairs, front door slamming as he left. Loki lifted his trembling hand off her mouth.

She stared at him, breathing heavily. “H-how—how did—”

“Illusion.” He smiled, but it looked more like a grimace of pain. “See? I told you no one would know the difference.”

Her head was spinning. “So—so when he walked in—”

“He just saw the empty room.” Loki dropped the act and turned to her, his face filled with concern. “Teki, _please_ let me tell my mother about—”

“No, don’t—”

“Then you tell her, please.” He gripped her shoulder. “This isn’t—”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand—”

“You’re terrified of him!”

“It’s fine—”

“Nothing about what I just saw was fine!”

“Don’t tell anyone.” Teki gripped the fabric on his chest, pleading. “Believe me, it’ll just make things worse. _Please_ don’t tell anyone.”

Loki stared at her, brow furrowed. “All right,” he finally said. “I suppose we should be getting back to the Great Hall.”

She nodded. “Yes, I suppose so.”

He offered her his arm awkwardly. Teki took it even more awkwardly.

She couldn’t blame anyone but herself. This had been a terrible idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this story, feel free to check out my Tumblr (@cozy-the-overlord)!


	5. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After her... outing at the lake with the young prince, Teki is just trying to lay low.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week’s chapter is pretty short... I thought about combining it with next week’s, but I really liked the note this ended on, so I decided against it. Hope you don’t mind!
> 
> Thanks for reading :)

Teki stiffly swept her hands across the keys. When she woke up to find that the Queen had sent a messenger asking her if she would like to stop by to play the piano for a bit this morning, she told herself it was a good thing. She loved playing piano—surely that would make her feel better.

It didn’t.

Her back ached as she balanced on the bench, her shoulders aflame every time she moved her arms too much. The melody, usually so sweet and soothing, rattled in her skull and beat her brain. Frigga had given her a book of sheet music, but the notes swam before her eyes. Several times, she hit the wrong key, and all she could do was cringe.

Her stepfather hadn’t been pleased with her little game of hide and seek the night of Loki’s Nameday Feast. Neither had he bought her explanation that she had been in the bathroom the entire time because she hadn’t been feeling well.

It could’ve been worse. He didn’t know what she had been up to, or who she had been up to it with. Her ruined dress reappeared in her closet with the rest of the clean laundry, washed and good as new. As far as Osvald was concerned, Teki had just run off and hid somewhere like the brat she was. She couldn’t imagine what he would have done had he known she had been wandering around the place grounds in a soaking dress with Loki.

Her fingers hit the wrong key again, and Teki flinched. This was humiliating.

“Tekla.” The Queen interrupted, moving from the couch to sit at the bench with her. Teki stopped, focusing only on her folded hands in her lap.

Frigga frowned. “Is everything all right, dear?” she inquired. “You don’t seem to be yourself today.”

“I’m fine, Your Majesty. Just a bit tired.” She could feel the sweat lining her brow. It was far too hot to be wearing high collared, long sleeved dresses, but it was the only way to hide all the bruises.

The concern in the Queen’s voice was apparent. “Are you certain?”

Teki nodded, still keeping her eyes in her lap. She felt if she met Frigga’s concerned gaze, she’d be liable to start crying, and that would be even worse than playing the wrong notes on the piano.

She didn’t seem convinced, but nodded regardless. “Well then, perhaps it would be best if you went to go lie down and get some rest,” she said, reaching out to rub Teki’s shoulder consolingly. It took every ounce of willpower for Teki not to wince. “You don’t look well—I’d hate for you to be coming down with something.”

Teki nodded some more as she stood up. She wanted to tell her that it was all right, she wasn’t getting sick, she didn’t have to worry, but she didn’t trust her voice.

She was halfway down the hall when a familiar voice called her name.

“Teki!” Teki turned to see Prince Loki rushing towards her across the corridor, raven hair tousled. He reached her panting, his emerald eyes overflowing with a wild kind of worry. “Are you all right? You haven’t been at dinner.”

She dropped her gaze to the floor again. “Yes, I’m fine, my prince.” Her tone was high, artificially cheerful. “I’ve just been a bit tired.”

It wasn’t that she was mad at Loki. The little prank in the lake had been just that—a prank. He hadn’t meant it to be mean or anything, and she believed that he was genuinely apologetic, but… a lot of things went wrong when he pretended to fall off the dock.

He was reaching out towards her, his hand stopping just shy of hers. “Can—can I do anything to help?” he asked.

“It’s fine, my prince,” she repeated. “I’m just going back to my rooms.”

“I could walk you back—”

“No, that won’t be necessary” Teki interjected. Her voice came out sharper than she intended. She hated the way he flinched. “Sorry,” she dropped to a whisper. “I’m just—it’s—”

“No, you don’t have to explain. I understand.” He bowed softly. “Can I expect to see you at dinner tonight?”

“I’m not sure. Probably.” She didn’t particularly want to go, but there was no way her mother would let her skip a third night in a row.

Loki’s expression was pained. For a moment, he looked like he was going to say something else, but then he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Teki.”

“It’s alright,” she murmured. She turned to make her way down the hall, still feeling his gaze on her back.

…

Everything hurt.

Teki groaned as she tried to roll over in bed, searching for a position that didn’t press against the bruises on her shoulders and down her back. She wished her mother would take her to the healers. But her mother was concerned that they were spending far too much time down at the healing ward—she never said so, but Teki could tell that she was worried they’d start looking into their family.

“If it’s still hurting a lot by the end of the week, I’ll take you,” she had promised.

Teki wasn’t sure if she was going to make it to the end of the week.

Her shoulder twitched when she moved the wrong way, and Teki hissed in pain. She wanted her mother’s painkiller drink. Her mother had made for her earlier, before they went to dinner, but Teki hadn’t drank the whole thing—she was too afraid of passing out in front of the royal family. She was fairly certain her mother had saved the rest of it, in liquor cabinet downstairs…

For a while, she laid on her side, trying to ignore the throbbing at the base of her neck. _Don’t think about it_. If she woke Osvald up rustling through a cabinet she wasn’t allowed access to, she’d be even worse off than she was now. It wasn’t worth the risk. But as the night dragged on in an agonizing crawl, no relief in sight, Teki found her resolve breaking.

_She could be quiet._

Her heart was thudding as she peaked out through her cracked bedroom door. The hall was silent. Holding her breath, Teki crept out towards the stairs. History had taught her that the seventh step creaked if you placed your weight on the middle, so she was careful to hug the wall as she went down. She barely dared to breathe until she reached the bottom of the staircase and slipped into the sitting room.

The curtains on the other side were just barely cracked open, the slightest beam of moonlight cutting through the darkness and contorting the shadows of furniture and belongings in an ethereal glow. The cabinet loomed in the corner, glassy eyes watching her as she slunk past the table. Teki shuddered.

The doors were locked. That was all right—Teki knew her mother kept the key hidden away at the top of the cabinet. She wasn’t tall enough to reach it on her own, though, so she pulled one of the chairs away from the table to stand on. Her back screamed in pain, but she was careful to carry it high enough so that the legs wouldn’t drag on the floor. She groped blindly across the dusty shelf until her fingers landed on the little metal key.

Teki glanced over her shoulder as she stepped down from the chair. The apartment was still. Even so, she could feel her pulse pounding in her ears as she fumbled with the lock. _Please don’t make any noise_. It clicked open without issue.

The metallic glint of liquor bottles greeted her. Teki squinted through the dark. There should be a mug somewhere, but the pale moonlight revealed nothing. Her heart sank. Her mother did keep the extra, didn’t she? She could’ve sworn she had. If she had done all this sneaking around for nothing…

Climbing back on to the chair, Teki ran her fingers down each shelf in a desperate search for the missing mug. There was a sinking feeling in her stomach, but she forced herself to ignore it. Maybe it had gotten pushed behind the bottles. She reached as a far as she could, but she found only glass.

Then her nails jammed against something metallic.

Teki cried out before she could stop herself. _No!_ She clapped a hand over her mouth, anxiously eying the stairs. Only when several minutes had passed and her stepfather didn’t come pounding into the room did she exhale and turn back to the cabinet. Nursing her hand, she tried to make out what it was she had hit.

There seemed to be a small metal box hidden behind the liquor bottles. Teki frowned. _What in the Norns?_ The meager light from the curtains wasn’t nearly enough to take a proper look. Tentatively, she slid the box from its resting place.

It was about the size of a large book, and heavy too—she could feel the contents sliding around inside as she turned it in her hands. There was a tiny silver lock embedded on the side. Her hands itched—the layer of grime engulfing the box screamed of neglect. How long had this thing been hidden away in here? Why had it been hidden away in the first place? Teki was confused.

She held the box to the light, hoping to get a better look. There seemed to something engraved on the top, perhaps a name of some sort, but the dust was so bad she couldn’t tell what it was. Probably “Áslaug,” or perhaps her grandfather’s name, “Ásvaldr.” Her mother still had many engraved pieces that had belonged to her grandfather. But then again, Teki wasn’t quite certain. The first letter didn’t look much like an “Á.” She rubbed at it with the skirt of her nightdress, her pain nearly forgotten in her curiosity. _What could this be?_ What would her mother keep hidden from the rest of the family?

After a moment, she had cleaned it up enough to make out the lettering. She wasn’t sure what it was she was expecting to find, but there was a thrum in her hands as she held it to the light again. It took only a moment for her to recognize the name. She nearly dropped the whole thing on the wooden floor.

_Steinn_

This box belonged to Teki’s father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this story, feel free to check out my Tumblr (@cozy-the-overlord)!


	6. The Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So what's in the box?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's also pretty short ... I promise we'll be getting back to longer chapters soon!

Teki stood outside the classroom, pulling at her sash anxiously. Her head ached with exhaustion. She hadn’t been able to sleep last night.

Her father had left years ago, before she could read words, before Brant had ever been born. He packed up his things and was gone without a trace. Except… there was a trace. Hidden in her mother’s liquor cabinet, for goodness knows how long. Teki had stared up at the pearl ceiling all night, her mind racing. What was in that box? What had her father left behind?

Her mother was going meet up with some ladies after breakfast, and Osvald said he’d be leaving as well, so Teki had spent the meal tapping her foot under the table as she waited for them to go. As soon as the door slammed closed, she was on top of the chair and scrambling for the key.

Brant watched from the floor with a frightened curiosity.

“What if Daddy finds out?” he whispered.

She pulled the metal box out from its hiding place behind the bottles. “He won’t.”

“But Teki, he _always_ finds out.”

Her brother was right, but at the moment Teki couldn’t allow herself to think of like that. She ran her fingers over the engraving. _Steinn_. The name came alive every time she read it. _Steinn_. It didn’t matter what was in the box, she realized. This was proof enough—proof that her father had existed in a realm beyond her memory. Her eyes prickled with tears.

Brant was frowning. “What is that?”

“I don’t know.” She shook the box, the contents rattling against its metallic walls. There was definitely _something_ in there. Teki picked at the lock. It didn’t budge.

“There has to be a key for this somewhere,” she muttered. Standing on her tiptoes, she scanned the top of the liquor cabinet, but found nothing.

Her brother pulled at her skirt. “Teki, he’s going to be _mad_!”

Teki hesitated. She couldn’t go tearing apart the apartment searching for a key the size of her fingernail. She’d surely be caught before even coming close to finding it. But… she _had_ to unlock this box. It was a need that burned deep in her soul, something she didn’t have the words to articulate.

_“Oh, is that all? I can handle that.”_

Her mouth dropped open at the realization.

The maid she had run into in the royal wing of the palace had directed her to a classroom on the opposite side of the building, and so now she stood outside the door, waiting apprehensively for Prince Loki’s lesson to end.

Would he even care to help her? Her dismissal of him had been rather abrupt the day before. She couldn’t shake the image of him flinching as she snapped at him. Maybe he wouldn’t want to—

Teki was startled from her worries when the classroom door belched open to release an onslaught of children. She took an abrupt step back. At first, she didn’t see the prince in the crowd, her anxiety racing back full force. _Am I at the wrong room? Is he not here?_ But after a moment, he slipped out of the classroom as well, emerald eyes staring blankly into the distance. He would’ve walked right past her if she hadn’t spoken

“Prince Loki?” she asked, stepping forward.

Loki turned around, eyes widening in surprise. “Teki? What—I mean—” he bowed. “Forgive me, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“No, it’s all right. I—” she faltered. “I was wondering. Could you—could you possibly help me with something?” Her cheeks burned. How pathetic was she, waiting outside his class to beg for a favor? He must have thought her truly pitiful.

But to her surprise, Loki’s eyes lit up. “Of course, anything!”

He followed her back to her rooms, listening intently as she explained the situation. He seemed absolutely fascinated.

“So, your mother has never mentioned that she had this?” he asked as they reached her apartment.

“No!” Teki replied. It was… odd, to be talking about her father so openly, but there was something relieving about it. It was as if the cord that bound her heart for so long had finally been loosened. “But she never talks about him at all. She used to get mad when I brought him up.”

“Do you have any idea what is in it?”

“None.” She pushed open the door. “I thought he took everything he had with him when he left.”

Brant was sitting on the floor of the sitting room. At the sound of the door, he jumped up nervously, but his face broke out into a wide grin once he recognized Teki’s guest.

“Prince Loki!” he cried excitedly. “Are you here to give me wings?”

Loki laughed softly. “I’m afraid I’m still working on that front,” he said. “But I’ll be sure to get back to you as soon as I have.”

He followed them into the dining area. “What are you doing?” he asked. “Can I help?”

“You know what you can do?” Teki steered him back into the sitting room. “You can stay here and keep guard. If you hear anybody coming, you come tell us.” Brant huffed, but still sat back down obediently.

With her brother occupied, she brought Loki to the liquor cabinet, where she had hastily returned the box before leaving to find the prince.

“Here it is,” she said, handing it to him. Loki studied it, turning it in his hands just as she had last night.

“Huh,” he said thoughtfully. “I think this is Midgardian.”

Her heart sank. “Does that mean you can’t open it?”

“No, no, I can. It’s just strange. You just don’t see much from Midgard around here.” He looked up at her, excitement glinting in his green eyes. “Are you ready?”

Teki’s voice caught in her throat. She could only nod.

He flicked his wrist. With a click, the metal lid popped loose. For a moment, they just stared at it.

Loki held it towards her. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Hesitantly, she nodded. _When did the air get so heavy?_ With trembling hands, she lifted the lid and turned it on its hinge. They peered over the edge with bated breath.

The musty scent of secrets long forgotten greeted them.

Loki frowned. “What the Hel?” Atop the stack of yellowed documents were two small glass vials, one empty, one sealed and filled with a deep burgundy liquid. Delicately, he lifted the full vial between his forefinger and his thumb, watching it slosh around as he shook it.

“Your father wasn’t a potion-maker, was he?” he asked.

Teki barely heard him. Slowly, as if she were underwater, she reached out to pick up the faded leather journal that rested besides the vials. She stared at it in her hands, like something out of a dream.

The prince followed her gaze. “What is it?”

“It’s—it can’t—” she flipped through the pages, drinking in the familiar script. “This is my father’s journal.” He had kept it with him wherever he went, always at the ready to scribble down some new melody or idea. When he was writing, he’d keep it balanced on the music shelf of the piano as he played, changing a note or two, testing out new sounds. _How did that sound, Teki? Did you like that part better or worse?_

Teki blinked furiously. “He took this everywhere with him,” she whispered. There was a deep, primal sort of panic building in her chest. She felt as if she might be choking. “ _Everywhere_. Why would she have it? Why wouldn’t he take it with him?”

Loki looked as though he was about to say something when Brant scrambled in, pale as a ghost.

“He’s coming!” he hissed. “Daddy’s coming!”

_Already?!_

She slammed the box closed without thinking to return the journal. “You can’t be here!” she whispered frantically to Loki as she ripped it from his hands and shoved it back into the liquor cabinet. “The window! In my room!” She knew she couldn’t be making much sense, but Loki understood. He dashed out of the room, disappearing up the stairs just as the front door opened.

It was only then that she realized she was still holding her father’s journal in her hand. Teki barely had time to shove it under her sash and cross her arms atop it before Osvald strode into the room. She quickly dropped her gaze to the floor.

He glared. “What are you doing?”

Her fingers traced the outline of the journal under the fabric. _Please don’t let him see it._ “Nothing, sir.”

“Nothing?”

“I was just going to help Brant with his reading.” Her voice was trembling more than it should. _Keep it together. Keep it together._

Osvald snorted. “You and your fucking reading.” He walked past her into the room, smacking her bottom as he went. Teki flinched. “Well, get to it.”

She fled to her bedroom.

Brant was huddled next to her window, face pressed against the glass. Loki was nowhere to be seen.

“Did he leave?” she whispered. Brant nodded, pointing to the ground. Teki followed his gaze. The prince was standing on the ground, just below her window, brow furrowed in concern. When he saw her looking, he visibly relaxed. He motioned towards her, then towards her apartment. _Are you all right?_

Did… did he linger just to make sure she was safe? Warmth flooded her chest, soothing her racing heart. Teki smiled and nodded, waving him away. _Everything’s fine. Don’t worry._

Loki grinned, giving her an exaggerated bow before he left. _My lady._

Chuckling, Teki sank to the ground, back against the wall. But the lightheartedness was quick to fade. Her father’s journal rested heavily against her torso. She pulled it from her sash, cradling it against her chest. It shouldn’t be here. It should have been out traveling the universe at her father’s side, not locked away to rot in a liquor cabinet. She didn’t understand.

“What’s that?” whispered Brant, pointing at the journal.

She glanced at her half-brother. Did he even know about her father? He certainly wasn’t a topic that came up in casual conversation.

“It belonged to my father,” she said carefully.

He frowned. “Daddy?” he asked, motioning towards the stairs.

“No, not him. My daddy. My real daddy.” There was an ache in her heart as she tried to explain. How many years had she spent playing along with the charade that her father had never existed? How many times had she allowed herself to be introduced as Tekla Osvalddottir? There was a reason Brant didn’t know of him, and part of that reason was her.

Brant cocked his head in confusion. “Your daddy?” he asked. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know.” She inhaled slowly. Underneath the journal, a newfound determination was burning in her heart. “But I’m going to find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of curious if anyone has any theories ...
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, feel free to check out my Tumblr (@cozy-the-overlord)!


	7. The Gatekeeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip across the Rainbow Bridge seems in order.

“It doesn’t mention anything about him leaving at all?”

Teki shook her head. “No, nothing.”

She and the prince were huddled in one of the back tables of the library, flipping through the pages of her father’s journal in search of some kind of clue. Teki had wondered if Loki would even be interested in continuing to help her—her life was such a mess, she didn’t see why anyone would want to willingly jump in—but he seemed just as eager to find her father as she was.

Although, neither of them had any idea as to where to start.

Loki had suggested beginning with the journal, since that was their main lead. “If he wrote in it every day, then he probably mentioned something about leaving, right?” he asked. “That couldn’t have been a decision he took lightly.”

Teki thought so as well, but the more she looked, the more it appeared that her father had done nothing of the sort. When he wasn’t writing ballads, it seemed the only thing he wrote about was her.

_Teki and I went into town today to watch the parade. She was ecstatic—especially fascinated by the violinists. She’s been dancing around the room, pretending to play violin all night long. She says that she wants to learn, and I have half a mind to start teaching her. After all, she’s picked up the piano like it was nothing. Such a musical heart—I’m so proud of her._

Seeing her name—her nickname, that is—written in her father’s handwriting took her back to the letter he had left behind, the one that dissolved his marriage and rejected her as his daughter.

_My dear Tekla…_

That letter had been in the box too, along with several other letters he had exchanged with her mother before they were married. Rereading it for the first time since he had left, Teki was once again struck with the belief that there was something dubious about her father’s message. The whole thing was so stilted, so emotionless. It felt… it felt _scripted_. As if his hand was only transcribing another’s words.

And he called her Tekla.

Next to her, Loki sat straight up. “Why, we don’t have to look through all this!” he cried. “I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of this before!”

She frowned in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Heimdall!” Loki stood, grinning. “He sees everyone in the universe. We can just ask him where your father is.”

Teki’s heart stuttered. The Gatekeeper stood at the edge of the Bifrost, eyes that protected Asgard from the threats that lurked beyond. Asking him to check for her father seemed… disrespectful. “Are we—are we allowed to do that?”

The prince laughed. “Why wouldn’t we be?” He pulled her to her feet. “Come on, let’s go!”

“I—now?”

“Why not?” He hesitated. “Unless—if you’d prefer, I could just—”

“No.” Teki inhaled. Loki was right. This could be the best way to find her father. It was time she got over her fear of … everything. She took his hand. “Let’s go.”

…

They rode out to the Rainbow Bridge together on Loki’s horse. It was… a bit odd, to be sharing the reins with someone, but Teki didn’t have her own horse and wasn’t keen to wait for the stable hands to pick one out for her. It wouldn’t have even mattered anyways, because they didn’t have any sidesaddles on hand, and Teki knew that in the time it would have taken her to change into slacks, she would have talked herself out of going at all. Instead, she found herself perched awkwardly in the front of Loki’s nightmare black mare, Brynja.

“You—you can still see, right?” she asked as Loki shifted in the saddle behind her.

He hummed in affirmation. “Um—I think—” his hand fluttered stiffly at her waste. “Would it be alright if I—if I held on to you?” Teki twisted around to see his cheeks were bright pink. It reminded her of the night of his Nameday Feast, when she had to ask him to lace her dress up, and her face flushed as well.

Loki coughed. “Just so you don’t fall off,” he added quickly. “Apologies, it’s just that I’ve never ridden like this, and—”

“No, it’s fine,” she interrupted quietly. “You can… hold on to me.” For a moment, Loki didn’t move. Then, very slowly, he brought his arm to rest across her stomach, holding her to his torso. Teki forgot how to breathe.

“Ready?” he whispered, the little puff of breath ticking her hair. She giggled, nodding. With a click of his tongue, Loki spurred the horse forward. Teki was soon grateful for his arm at her waist, because she was certain that without it, she would’ve gone flying when they shot forward like a cannonball.

“Oh!”

She had never ridden across the Bifrost before. Teki could only cling to Brynja’s mane and try not to scream as colors whizzed across her vision, speeding high above the rolling waves of the Asgardian ocean. Loki shouted something, but she couldn’t hear him above the wind roaring in her ears.

By the time they had reached Himinbjorg, she was panting as if she had been the one racing for miles. Loki laughed.

“Have you never galloped before?”

She bristled. “I’ve galloped.” But riding horseback had never been one of Teki’s favorite hobbies, and she felt Loki could tell.

Smiling, he jumped to the ground, helping her slide down as well and offering her his arm. “Let’s go.”

She took it haltingly. “We—we just go in?” she asked. “Don’t we have to… announce ourselves?”

Loki laughed again. “He sees everything! He already knows we’re here.”

“Wait.” Teki froze. “Everything? He sees everything? Even—” _Even Osvald?_

For a moment, the prince seemed confused, but realization flashed across his face.

“Yes, but Heimdall doesn’t interfere with what he sees, not unless there’s significant threat to Asgard,” he reassured her. Something dark passed across his face. “Not even when he should.”

Teki swallowed. Loki had so far honored his promise to keep what he knew of her family’s dynamic to himself, but he made no secret of the fact that he thought she should tell some higher authority. He was convinced that Osvald could be stopped by someone like his mother. Teki wished she shared his optimism.

Walking into Himinbjorg was like stepping into a whole other world. The spherical walls glowed with an archaic power that seemed to vibrate through her every fiber. The very air seemed to have a different taste, as if flavored by the intricacies of the cosmos. She needed no knowledge of the Bifrost to understand this was sacred ground.

In the middle of the room, a figure stood on the raised platform still as a statue, a golden silhouette cutting through the multicolored stains of the galactic skyline. The curved horns of his helmet glistened in the starlight, completely motionless as Teki and Loki entered.

The prince inhaled. “Good Heimdall,” he said. His voice had taken on a very grandiose tone, and Teki had to suppress the urge to laugh. “We wish to ask a favor—”

Heimdall turned, and the urge died almost instantly. The watcher of the worlds was an imposing form. His helmet cast his face in shadow as he stepped forward, his intricate golden armor echoing the design of the hilt of the giant sword he clutched in his hands. But it was his eyes that sent shivers down her spine. His deep orange irises bored deep into soul, as if he was seeing things about her that she didn’t even know herself. She quickly dropped her eyes to the ground.

When he spoke, it was in a deep baritone that boasted of ancient wisdom. “I know why you’re here.” Even when she wasn’t looking, she felt the weight of his stare. “Lady Tekla. I cannot give you that for which you search.”

“We only wish to know the whereabouts of her father.” Loki interjected. “Steinn—” he looked to Teki questioningly.

“Kjellson,” she whispered. “Steinn Kjellson.” She pulled her gaze from the metal floor, forcing herself to meet his piercing eyes. “Do—do you know where he is?”

He was still looking at her, studying her intently as if she were a piece in an art display. Teki realized suddenly that he had not looked at Loki once since they arrived at Himinbjorg. She squirmed.

“I know of whom you speak,” he said finally. “But it is not my place to speak on the matter.”

“What do you mean?” Loki demanded, frowning. “Is your place not to serve Asgard, and her royal family?” He motioned towards Teki. “She is to be your Queen.”

Heimdall’s gaze didn’t waver. “You’re not asking the right question,” he said directly to her.

“I—what?” _What right question?_ Flickers of irritation began to burn at her nerves. “Can’t you see him?” she asked.

Heimdall only stared.

She scowled. “I haven’t seen my father in years!” she snapped. “Can you at least tell me if he’s safe?”

“You’re not asking the right question,” he repeated.

With a huff, she turned to Loki. “This is a waste of time. He’s not helping us.” The prince nodded, glaring at Heimdall.

“It’s time we left,” he agreed. He held her hand as they stormed out of the building together.

Even as Loki helped her back on to Brynja’s back, Teki felt the gatekeeper’s gaze entrapping her in its scope. She turned around to find that Heimdall had not budged an inch from where they left him, orange eyes piercing hers. She balked.

_You’re not asking the right question._

But what other question was there to ask? All she wanted to know was where her father had went. What other way could she ask that? Teki glowered as Loki pulled himself into the saddle.

“I’m sorry Teki,” he was saying. “I really thought he could help.”

“You were right,” she mumbled bitterly. “He _could_ help. He just didn’t.”

Loki sighed, urging Brynja forward, but not too fast yet. “We’ll have to try something else,” he mused. “You said your father used to work as a court musician?”

“Yes. He quit when he married my mother.” Teki pulled at her sash. When she was little, she had always imagined what it would be like to be the daughter of a court musician, what it would be like to not have to worry about curtseys or tea time, to spend her days helping her father prepare for his performances. She had always felt he wished he hadn’t had to leave the musical troop, picked up on the longing even though he did his best to mask it.

 _“It’s a good thing I’m not in the troop anymore,”_ he had joked wistfully with her once, after she had finished playing one of his piano pieces without sheet music for the first time. _“You’d have me right out of a job!”_

Back in the present, Loki seemed to be engrossed in some idea. “Do you know any of his fellow players?” he asked.

Teki frowned. “No. By the time I was born he wasn’t involved with them anymore.” She turned around to face the prince. “Why?”

His face was scrunched up in thought. “Well, maybe they know something,” he said. “If they were close enough, they may have some idea as to where he went. We can check the court records, figure out who was with him when he was working.”

She cocked her head to the side. “You know, there might be something there.” The bitterness in her throat from their visit with Heimdall begin to melt away. She smiled shyly at the prince. “Thank you.”

Loki let out an embarrassed chuckle. “For what?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Everything. Helping me.” Her cheeks were burning. Why was she always such a failure when it came to speaking?

But Loki didn’t seem to mind. “Of course.” He leaned forward to wrap his arm around her waist once more. “Are you ready to go?”

She nodded, unable to hold in her squeal as they shot out once more across the Rainbow Bridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this story, feel free to check out my Tumblr (@cozy-the-overlord)!


	8. The Musician

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Teki track down an old friend of her father's.

“That was lovely!” Queen Frigga applauded from where she was seated on the couch. “Did your father write that one as well?”

Teki hummed in affirmation from the piano. Frigga had been kind enough to give her stacks of new music to play, but she still preferred her father’s notes. This piece in particular was one she had only just discovered the night before, a beautiful, lilting ballad scrawled across some of the final pages in her father’s journal. She had been surprised to find something that she didn’t recognize (she had been under the impression that her father taught her everything he wrote) until she saw the note he had left for himself in the corner of the page: _Teki’s nameday_.

Eyes burning, Teki had sworn on the spot to learn it by heart.

Frigga stood, moving to sit with her at the bench. “I have been meaning to ask,” she said. “How have you felt about taking dinner with us? Has everything been all right?”

Teki nodded. It wasn’t a complete lie. She still didn’t like how sitting at the royal tables put her on display for the whole court, nor how people seemed to notice her more now as she walked through the halls, but it could have been worse. It made her mother happy at least. And it was an excuse to spend more time with the younger prince.

“Thor has been treating well?”

She nodded again. Well enough, she supposed. Usually, Thor asked her to dance as soon as the meal ended. He was always polite, always cordial, but Teki knew that dancing with her was a formality he was eager to rush through so he could run off with the people he actually liked. That was all right. She preferred dancing with Loki anyways.

The Queen smiled, reaching out to stroke an errant strand of hair back behind Teki’s ear. “You know you can tell me if there’s anything you’re struggling with, right Tekla?” she asked. “I want you to feel welcomed here.”

“I do, Your Majesty.” She could practically hear Loki hissing in her ear. _Tell her_. Teki bit her tongue. She … she _wanted_ to. She wanted to tell Frigga everything. Maybe he was right. Maybe that would change everything.

_But what if it didn’t?_

Her mind was elsewhere as she left Frigga’s quarters, cradling her sheet music and her father’s journal to her chest as she wondered. Was it worth the risk? Could it really be that easy?

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t even notice Loki in front of her until she ran into him.

“Oh!” Papers scattered across the marble floor as she jumped back in surprise. Teki almost followed them, but Loki caught her before she could completely lose her balance.

He looked mortified. “I’m so sorry!” he cried. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Teki’s cheeks were burning, quickly kneeling to the floor in order to pick up her sheet music. _Why must you always make a fool of yourself?_ “I—I wasn’t either.”

Still, he knelt alongside her as he helped to gather up the strewn pages. “Actually, I was just looking for you,” he confessed. “I checked the court records to see who played with your father when he was a court musician.”

Teki inhaled. “And?”

“Well, it seems he was one in a troop of five. Out of the other four, two have moved off world, and one passed away a few years ago. But the fourth is still alive, and still living here, in town. His name is Völundr Vidarson. Here—” he fumbled for something in his pocket, pulling out a small scrap of paper. “I have his address.”

Teki studied it. She didn’t recognize the street, but even so excitement was welling in her stomach. “Do—do you really think he’ll know anything?”

Loki shrugged. “I’m not sure, but it’s worth a shot, right?”

_Yes. Yes it is._

“When can we go talk to him?” she asked.

“We can leave now, if you want. I don’t have lessons today.”

She nodded eagerly. “Perfect. Just let me drop off my things at my room.”

No one was home when she got back to her apartment, so Teki ended up changing as well. She told herself it was simply because her silky crimson dress was too ostentatious for a jaunt about town. That she changed into a muted green skirt was pure coincidence.

If Loki noticed she was wearing his color, he didn’t say anything, something Teki wasn’t certain if she found relieving or disappointing. She followed him through the palatial labyrinth, marveling once more at how easily he navigated through the twisting halls. Teki had lived here all her life, and yet she had no idea how they managed to end up in the courtyard in front of the palace.

Teki’s spine tingled as they passed the guards lining the courtyard. The determined excitement that had swelled in her chest when they had first decided to leave was beginning to give way to nervousness. She leaned towards Loki.

“We’re—we’re allowed to leave on our own, right?” she whispered. It felt like a stupid question—after all, they had ridden off to Himinbjorg without a problem—but sneaking off into town seemed different.

Loki nodded. “Technically, I’m supposed to bring a guard,” he whispered back. “But we’ll be fine.” He slipped past the gate. Gulping, Teki followed.

She was hardly a stranger to going to town. Her father used to take her all the time when he was still there, and even now her mother sometimes had occasion to bring her and Brant in to pick something up (although her mother didn’t find the experience nearly as enjoying as her father always did). Teki had a superficial level of familiarity with the streets, the buildings, the vendors.

But without an adult, everything seemed more intimidating. The dirt roads seemed busier, the people pushing past them more impatient. In a market stall across the street, two women were screaming at each other over the price of eggs. Without thinking, Teki grasped Loki’s hand. At first, he stiffened, but then he squeezed her palm, interlacing his fingers with hers.

A wizened old woman pulling a vending cart of rattling bottles came alongside them, ringing a bell as she went. The paint on the side of the wooden cart was peeling with age, but Teki could just barely make out the crooked letters: _Apothecary._

The old woman smiled at her, wrinkled face pulling apart to flash crooked teeth.

“Might I interest you, sweetling?” she rasped, tapping the side of her cart with her faded boot. “Potion of luck for good fortune? Potion of devotion for catching a man?” She leaned forward, so close that Teki could smell her breath. “Twist your fate a little?”

Words froze in Teki’s throat. The hair on her arms was standing on end, but the woman wasn’t moving. _Go away. Go away please._

Luckily, Loki intervened. “She’s not interested, Asta,” he said, pulling Teki closer to him. The old woman bowed, ambling on her way.

Teki frowned as she continued along, ringing her bell and stopping to talk to other passerby’s. “Do—do you know her?” she asked the prince.

He nodded. “I think everyone knows her around here. She’s been selling potions around here for as long as I can remember. My mother likes her.” He led her down a narrow lane, away from the main street and Asta the Apothecary. “This way.”

They were in the poorer side of town, where the ramshackle houses seemed to lean against one another for support, where faded stalks of grass choked their way through the chalky topsoil. It was a good thing she had changed—her boots and the hem of her skirt were coated in a layer of dust, something that would have surely been noticed by her mother if it happened to one of her red dresses.

In one shabby yard, two children were kicking dirt at each other, laughing at the cloud of dust that poofed into the air. They quieted themselves abruptly when Loki and Teki passed, staring in glassy-eyed silence. Teki got the uncomfortable feeling that she and the prince didn’t exactly fit in.

Loki continued unbothered. He scanned the splintered fence posts for address names, eventually stopping before one dilapidated house that seemed no different from those that surrounded it.

“I think this is it,” he murmured. Slowly, they made their way past the fence and up the rotting porch steps, the floorboards creaking so loudly that almost sounded as if someone was moaning beneath their feet.

Loki rapped on the door. There was a muffled yell from within, more creaking and shuffling about, and then the door opened. The shaggy man who stood in the doorframe leered at them suspiciously.

The prince inhaled. “Völundr Vidarson?”

“Yeah?” he asked. Teki couldn’t tear her eyes away from how the curls of his scraggly beard bounced as he spoke. “What do you want?”

“We’re trying to—”

“Gudmund didn’t send you, did he?” Völundr asked sharply. “Because you can tell that son of a bitch that I don’t owe him shit—”

Loki was startled. “Forgive me, I—”

“He can go to the authorities if he bloody well pleases, he can’t prove a damn thing—”

“Sir Völundr?” Teki stepped forward with a small curtsey, swallowing her unease. “My name is Tekla Steinndottir. We’re trying to find my father.”

The bearded man peered at her, and she nearly wilted under the weight of his stare. But soon enough, his features softened.

“Yeah, you are, aren’t you?” he said gently. “You have his eyes.” He held the door open wider, beckoning them over. “Well, come on in.”

Völundr didn’t strike her as one who entertained guests often, but she couldn’t deny that he made an effort. Despite Teki and Loki’s protestations, he insisted upon making a kettle of tea, bringing it out to where they sat perched on the edge of his derelict sofa in mismatched mugs. The liquid in the mugs was a pallid shade of gray. Teki forced herself to take a sip, while Loki only stared at it suspiciously. Their host didn’t seem to mind.

“I never understood Steinn,” he was saying as he poured himself an overflowing mug. “That old man Ásvaldr offered him so much money just to fuck off. He could’ve made off like a bandit – just bought a place in the country and spent the rest of his life writing music. It’s all he ever wanted to do, you know. But no. Him and his fucking honor—he insisted upon marrying that girl. Said the only man who’d be raising his child would be him. Threw his whole fucking life away—they wouldn’t even let him stay on as a court musician, because he had to be a gentleman.”

Völundr paused to take a sip of his tea. Teki could only gap up at him. After so many years of her father only existing within her secret memory, there was something hypnotic about hearing him spoken of so easily out loud.

“He took it well, I suppose. He was real proud of you, you know,” he nodded towards Teki, the hint of a smile under his beard. “He took you to meet the troop once. Do you remember that?”

Teki shook her head.

He sighed. “You wouldn’t, I guess. You were just a toddling little thing. You got up on the piano with him and played _Elf Song_ ,” he chuckled. “We got such a kick out of that. This tiny little girl, couldn’t even talk properly yet, but here she was playing _Elf Song_. We told Steinn that he was teaching you the important stuff!”

 _Elf Song_. Now that he mentioned it, Teki thought she almost _could_ remember. Although maybe not. There had been so many times she had sat on her father’s lap and tapped out the melody across the keys… she hadn’t realized how close she was to crying until a fat tear splashed into her dubiously-colored tea. Embarrassed, she wiped her eyes as fast as she could. _Come on, pull it together._

Loki’s gentle pats on her thigh brought her back to reality. She looked up to see him gazing at her with concern. _Of course he noticed._ Teki couldn’t bring herself to mind, though. Without really thinking about it, she let her hand rest on top of his.

Luckily, Völundr hadn’t. “You still play piano?” he asked her.

Her head spun at the abrupt question. “Yes—” she stuttered. “A little.”

“Good. That’s good,” he nodded distantly, taking another gulp from his mug. “I was always more of a violinist, but piano’s good.”

Teki swallowed. As much as she wanted to hear more about her father, there was a reason they were here.

“Sir Völundr—” she started.

He waved nonchalantly. “Völundr’s fine. I was never much of a ‘sir’ anyways.”

“Völundr.” She breathed in deeply. “My father vanished several years ago—he left a note to dissolve his marriage and never came back—”

“Yeah, I heard about that.” He sat back, shaking his head. “Didn’t fucking believe it. Still don’t, really. Steinn wasn’t the one to back out of a commitment, no matter how miserable he was.”

Loki looked up, frowning. “Miserable?”

“Hel yeah. That marriage was a fucking joke” Völundr motioned towards Teki. “I’m sure she could tell you.”

Teki froze. It was well known that there was certainly no love lost between her parents, but she had never imagined their relationship described like… _that_.

“I—I don’t know what you mean” she stammered. “They didn’t really talk much—”

He laughed loudly, spilling tea down his beard. “Of course they didn’t! Áslaug was too busy fucking her way through court to have time for that shit.”

Her heart stopped. “What?”

She heard him wrong. She had to have heard him wrong.

“Oh yeah,” he said, downing another gulp. He seemed almost surprised by her shock. “Didn’t you know? If it had a dick between its legs, she took it to bed. Didn’t even try to hide it, either—I think she was trying to piss him off into leaving.”

Her mother … her mother, who spent an hour fussing over her hair because of her worries over how people would perceive her? Who made Brant practice his “la” sound in the mirror every morning because she didn’t want him looking like a fool? Who stayed with _Osvald_ because she didn’t want to be an embarrassment?

Teki shook her head violently. “My mother wouldn’t do that. She’s—she’s a proper lady of the court!”

“Uh huh,” Völundr sounded amused, but there was a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “If that were true, you wouldn’t exist, darling.” He sighed. “Steinn tried not to let her get to him. He just looked the other way. Said he didn’t care what she was doing, as long as he had his daughter. That’s why it’s bullshit, him leaving. It’s bullshit.”

Teki wanted to scream. She wanted to stand up and list out all the reasons her mother could never do such a thing, no matter how much she hated her father. But… but… they _hadn’t_ slept in the same bed when he was still there. They almost never spoke. Calling them man and wife—Völundr was right, it was a joke. And … there had always been other men around. Lords, noblemen, warriors … Teki had never questioned it, never _thought_ to question it, but now …

“Norns …” she whispered shakily, covering her mouth with her palm.

Loki moved closer to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and rubbing her arm soothingly. It didn’t do much to lessen the racing in her head, but she was grateful for the attempt.

“I take it you haven’t heard from Steinn?” he asked Völundr.

The man shook his head. He moved from the chair to crouch before Teki, the curls of his beard just barely grazing her knees.

“I’m sorry to have brought you pain,” he said somberly. His eyes were a deep hazel, and Teki found herself unable to look away. “But there’s nothing else I can tell you. I don’t know what happened that night, but I know there’s no way in Hel he left you of his own accord. No fucking way.”

His words were still swirling in her head as they made their way back up the dirt lane, along with a thought that she was scared to put into words.

“Loki, do you—you don’t think my mother …” she swallowed. “ _Did something_ to my father, do you?”

“I—” Loki’s voice was unsteady. “I don’t think we have any reason to think that.” They were silent for a long while as they reached the main road once again.

“Does your mother love your stepfather?” he asked suddenly.

“I—I don’t know.” _Yes you do._ “They fight a lot,” she mumbled.

Across the street, Asta the Apothecary was making her way back up the line, still clanging her bell. It seemed louder this time, even though she was farther away. Teki felt herself shatter with every ring.

“I wonder why she married him,” Loki mused.

She frowned. She knew that well enough. “What’s there to wonder? He wanted to be the father of a queen. Who wouldn’t?”

“Yes, of course, I understand why he’d want to marry your mother.” Loki’s brow was furrowed in thought. “But why would your mother want to marry him? You say there’s little love between them. Why would she willingly tie herself to someone like him?”

“She was an unmarried woman with a child in court. She needed a husband as soon as possible. It didn’t matter who.” Teki remembered that mad rush to get married. Everyone had been in such a flurry, her father had been forgotten by the end of the week. She had sat quietly at their wedding feast, picking at her food and pretending to smile while everyone toasted to her mother and Osvald’s happiness, praying to the Norns that it wasn’t too late for her father to come back.

“But it didn’t have to be him. You said it yourself—who wouldn’t want to be the father of a queen?” Loki was frowning. “Besides, if our new friend is to be believed, your mother had … a plethora of other options. Why Osvald? Of all people?”

Her head was spinning. “What are you saying?”

Loki shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m saying. None of this makes any sense.” They slipped through the palace gate and back into the courtyard. “Here,” he said. “I’ll walk you back to your rooms.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this story, feel free to check out my Tumblr (@cozy-the-overlord)!


	9. The Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search for Teki’s father is put on hold with the approach of another Asgardian tradition.

“There!” Brant smacked his remaining playing cards on to the table. “I win!”

Teki smiled distractedly, dumping her own hand on to the table. “Good job Brant. But remember, winner cleans up.”

She watched her brother scoop the cards back into the deck without really paying much attention. A part of her felt guilty. Osvald was out of town, away on one of his semi-annual jaunts to the less populated area of Asgard where he and some other gentlemen of the court would ride off to the countryside for a fortnight to hunt and drink and do goodness knows what else while they were free from the watchful eyes of their wives. Teki had always looked forward to these trips. With Osvald gone, she was free, too— free to breathe easy for a little while, play with Brant without looking over her shoulder, enjoy a dinner without wondering what would happen if Thor didn’t ask her to dance.

But this time, she couldn’t bring herself to be as excited. While Teki was still grateful for the respite, Völundr’s disclosure weighed heavily on her mind. It was difficult to say nothing as she stood in her closet while her mother fretted about which dress she should wear to dinner. It was strange—her mother never talked about their time with her father, and yet somehow Teki felt as though she had been lied to. Her mother had always been quick to lecture, quick to criticize whenever she came too close to crossing the line of impropriety.

“Watch yourself!” she scolded one night on their way back from dinner, when Teki had spent little time dancing with Prince Thor and far too much dancing with his brother. “Keep this up and you’ll find yourself with a reputation, and then where will all of us be?”

_You would know, wouldn’t you?_

Teki didn’t say anything, though. She wasn’t certain how her mother would react to learning that she knew her secret. Deny it, probably. Admonish Teki for believing it. Demand to know where she had heard such a thing. She’d do her best to shut it down as quickly as possible, then go back to pretending that nothing had happened and everything was fine. But she’d look at Teki differently, the same suspicious way Teki now looked at her, perpetually wondering what her daughter was _really_ thinking below the surface. Teki wasn’t certain she was ready to open that can of worms.

She was still playing piano for the Queen nearly every day. While she tried not to play exclusively from her father’s catalogue, Frigga didn’t seem to mind that she mostly stuck to pieces he wrote. She would ask questions about her father and his inspiration and seemed to genuinely listen to her responses. At first, Teki was guarded in her answers. Somehow, she found it a little hard to believe that the Queen of the Nine Realms cared about the backstory behind a song she had never heard before. There had to be some ulterior motive to her interest.

But as it went on, Teki realized that even if there was some calculated reasoning behind her conversations with Frigga, she didn’t care. It was nice, talking about music and her father, how he’d get an idea suddenly while they were walking through the garden and rush back to their rooms so he could start working with it as soon as he could. And it was nice to feel as if someone—not just someone, _an adult_ —wanted to hear more.

One morning, when she was returning from Frigga’s quarters, Teki was startled by a familiar voice coming from behind the cracked door of her apartment.

“That’s close, that’s very close! But there’s only one ‘L.’ M-U-S-P-E-L-H-E-I-M.”

Frowning, she pushed open the door to find Prince Loki sitting on the floor next to her brother, who was frantically scribbling something down in a notebook. He looked up grinning when she entered.

“Hi Teki!”

She cocked her head, stifling a giggle at the way Loki hurriedly pulled himself to his feet.

“What’s going on in here?” she asked.

Brant waved the notebook. “Prince Loki’s teaching me how to write the names of all the Nine Realms!”

“I stopped by to talk to you,” Loki added quickly. The tips of his ears were pink. “He said he needed help, so...” He motioned towards Brant on the floor.

He shifted awkwardly, but Teki was touched. “Really? That was really nice of you.” As the prince’s cheeks flushed the same color as his ears, she looked at her brother. “Why do you need to write the names of all the Nine Realms?”

Brant glanced around the room, as if checking for eavesdroppers.

“I’m making a map!” he whispered conspiratorially.

“A map?” she whispered back, matching his tone. “A map to what?”

He shook his head. “I can’t tell you. It’s a _secret_.”

Teki chuckled as he returned to his notebook. He had been a lot more talkative recently, and not just with her. She suspected that Loki’s visits, which had been becoming increasingly frequent, may have had something to do with it.

She turned back to the prince. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“Oh, nothing in particular,” he shrugged apologetically. “I just wanted to see you—see that you were well.”

“Oh, well, I am.” Teki was suddenly feeling much warmer than before. She glanced down at the floor. “Thank you.”

They stood together in awkward silence for a bit, the only sound being the frantic scratching of Brant’s pen on the paper.

Loki was the first to break it. “Are you excited for the Games?” he asked abruptly.

Teki frowned. “Are they coming up already?” _Wonderful_. The Games were nothing but a demonstration of violence and deranged screaming, and Teki dreaded them every year.

He nodded. “Three more weeks.” After a moment’s hesitation, he added, “I’m playing this year.”

She startled. “Really?” It made sense, she supposed—if she was of age for Thor to give her his dagger, then Loki must be of age to participate, but somehow Loki and the Games occupied two opposite, irreconcilable parts of her mind. Teki wasn’t sure how to respond. “Wow, that’s… exciting.”

“It is,” he agreed, gazing down at the floor. “It’s rather daunting, as well. Everyone expects so much…” He looked back up at her with an eagerness that was only slightly masked. “You’ll be there, right?”

The question was simple enough, but it felt like he was asking something else. Something deeper. Something he should’ve known Teki couldn’t answer.

“Of course,” she said slowly. “I’m there every year. To support Thor.”

Loki stiffened. “Oh. Right,” he smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “How could I forget?”

Guilt washed over her. Teki looked away. She shouldn’t have mentioned Thor. She should’ve just said that she’d be there left at that. _Stupid, stupid…_

“Hey!” They both turned to see Brant glaring up at them. “How do you spell ‘Svartalfheim’?”

The anticipation for the Games only grew as the days went on. Prince Thor began hosting a daily training session with his friends in the sparring pit—whether because he genuinely wanted the practice or just to show off, Teki wasn’t certain. Loki had been joining them as well, leaving her without much to do. It was a strange realization—since when did she spend so much time with Loki? It shouldn’t have mattered, but she _felt_ his absence throughout the day, as she walked through the gardens by herself or sat scanning her father’s journal in the library alone. Strange…

She found herself heading to the sparring pit every afternoon to watch them practice. That was strange too, because usually she avoided these fights like the plague, but despite the shouting and the cursing and the hitting and the crashing she kept returning every day. Teki told herself it was just because she was bored, and had absolutely nothing to do with the way Loki’s face had lit up the first time he noticed her leaning against the fence.

At first, she worried that people would wonder at her sudden interest in the Games, but as time went on and no one questioned her, she realized this was normal. Expected, even. Because to them, she wasn’t coming to support Loki. They assumed she was there for Thor. Her _betrothed._

Her betrothed wasn’t very nice. Thor was strong, and he seemed to enjoy making a show of it. He always helped his opponent to their feet after defeating them, but there was something mocking in his tone that Teki didn’t like. His laughter boomed across the palace courtyard as he body slammed one of his friends to the ground yet again.

“You weren’t even trying!”

It was hard to believe that he and Loki were so closely related. The younger prince was much quieter in his approach, quick to dodge and lighter on his feet. His strategy was less about force and more about patience, letting his opponent chase him around the arena until they tired. When they made a mistake, he was always swift to pounce. Based on their reactions, Teki got the feeling that Thor and his friends hadn’t expected his little brother to be so capable of holding his own. She didn’t dare to clap for his victories, but she couldn’t bring herself to hide her grin.

However, when he sparred with Thor, it was a different story. The Crown Prince seemed determined to put his brother in his place. He pounded against Loki mercilessly, backing him into a corner and affording him no room to dodge. Teki cringed, covering her eyes with her hands. Why did people _like_ this?

She waited for Loki to yield, but instead the crowd rippled with cries of surprise. She peeked between her fingers to see the Thor on the ground, the younger prince standing above him, staff in hand and smirking.

Teki frowned, confused. _What happened?_

Thor jumped to his feet with a roar. “Cheat!” He shoved Loki’s chest, so hard that Loki stumbled backwards. “You know damn well magic is against the rules!”

_Oh._

The younger prince picked himself up, brushing the dust off his breastplate.

“I still don’t see why,” he grinned. “In battle, one should take advantage of any skill afforded to them.”

 _Yes,_ she wondered, _why isn’t magic allowed?_ Shouldn’t such a talent merit the same celebration as fighting with a sword? It certainly had more varied uses than simple violence. Her thoughts strayed to the night of Loki’s Nameday Feast, how easily he had cloaked them both in an illusion when Osvald came pounding through the door. What would have happened if he hadn’t been able to do that? Teki shivered. She agreed with Loki.

But Thor was fuming. “A true warrior doesn’t hide behind childish tricks,” he snapped. “Anyone who does is either cowardly or incompetent.”

“Now, now, Thor, go easy on him.” To the right, Fandral hopped the fence and joined the two of them in the arena. He smiled at Loki, his voice facetiously pleasant. “We all know that he’s more accustomed to the classroom than the battleground.”

Loki flinched. Teki didn’t really understand the insult, but hearing it from the blond warrior-in-training was enough to make bile rise in her throat. Loki had told her more about Fandral after the night they ran into him by the lake, although the five minutes of interaction she had exchanged with him was more than enough to cement her dislike. He was narcissistic and obnoxious, clinging to Thor’s friendship like a flea clings to a dog. He laughed as Loki picked up his staff and trudged out of the arena, jaw tight.

Teki watched him, brow creased. He was upset—she could tell. She wished she could go to him, talk to him, make sure he was all right, but there were too many people around—she didn’t want to risk making a scene. Instead, she just kept on staring, willing him to look up at her so she could give him a reassuring smile or… something. She wasn’t exactly sure. It didn’t matter in the end. Loki kept his gaze firmly fixed on the ground.

But one of the others didn’t seem to have any qualms about looking at Teki. She wasn’t certain when Sif had first noticed her watching the fighters train, but in the ensuing days she became painfully aware of the icy glare the warrior-maiden seemed to reserve just for her.

Today, Sif had only ripped her gaze from Teki long enough to disarm her opponent and pin him to the floor. She made eye contact with her even as she held her boot against his throat. Teki shifted uncomfortably. The message was clear enough: _this is my territory._

She didn’t know much about Sif, except that she trained with the boys and Thor liked her. Loki had called Thor’s feelings a passing fancy, but the summer was nearly over and he still danced with her every night. Teki couldn’t blame him. Sif was his age, with his strength and his wildfire. She was gorgeous in an angry sort of way—wearing armor instead of dresses had given her a kind of exotic beauty Teki knew she could never hope to achieve. Teki would’ve admired her if she wasn’t so terrifying.

 _It’s not my fault!_ she wanted to scream as Sif exited the arena, still glowering. _It’s not my fault we’re engaged! I swear!_

But it really came to a head at the end of the week.

Thor and his friends were taking a break for water, leaning up against the fence post only a little way up from Teki. Most of the other spectators had left already, and she was thinking that perhaps it was time for her to go as well—she had been watching for a few hours already, and she wanted to be back in her rooms before Osvald got home that evening—when out of nowhere Sif snapped her gaze to her.

“You’re a little young to be hanging around the sparring pit all the time, aren’t you?”

Teki froze. Suddenly, the entire group was silent and staring at her.

“What’s that?” Thor asked, confused.

Sif jerked her head towards her. “Your fiancé. She’s been here every day for the two weeks. Hadn’t you noticed?”

“Uh—” Clearly, he hadn’t. With the awkward air of one who was at a loss for how to respond, Thor gave a jerky bow in her direction. “Lady Tekla.”

Burning, Teki quickly curtseyed. “My prince.”

Fandral laughed. “Her prince! Why, such a devoted bride you have,” he bowed too, although his was much more exaggerated. “Tell us, Lady Tekla, how do you find your betrothed?” he smirked. “Are you pleased with his form?”

Teki blanched, pulling away from the railing. “I—”

“Let her alone Fandral.” She relaxed a bit once Loki interjected. He stood in the back of the group, arms crossed in irritation. “I doubt she wants to waste her time with the likes of you.”

She inhaled deeply. They were all looking at Loki now. Her trembling fingers picked at her sash as she focused on her breathing. _In and out. They’ll have forgotten you in a moment. In and out._

But Fandral was frowning. He glanced back and forth between her and Loki, slowly raising a finger.

“Just a moment…” He turned to the younger prince in bewildered amusement. “Was _she_ the one with you that night?”

Teki’s heart dropped.

_No, no no no no—_

“What are you talking about?” Loki asked flippantly, but Fandral wasn’t having any of it.

“She was, wasn’t she?” he cried, whipping back to Teki. “The night of your Nameday Feast! You were frolicking about the grounds with your brother’s bride-to-be?” He threw his head back with a guffaw. “Oh, that’s rich!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Loki insisted, glancing anxiously at Teki. Her whole body was shaking. Fandral was still going on, but she barely heard him.

_He’s going to find out._

“What happened?” Thor was asking.

“Oh, I caught them after they had snuck away from the feast,” Fandral had completely doubled over laughing. “They were sitting by the lake together. They were all wet—I think they had been _swimming_!”

Everyone seemed to be speaking at once, hooting, giggling. Teki couldn’t tell one breath from the next.

_We wouldn’t want to embarrass ourselves, would we Tekla?_

“No, we weren’t—” Loki’s desperation was cut off by Volstagg clapping his shoulder.

“Barely of age, and already making his brother a cuckold!” he bellowed. “I didn’t know he had it in him!”

The others howled.

_Oh Norns, he’s going to **kill me**!_

She couldn’t breathe.

Loki pushed his way to her, reaching through the fence just as her vision was darkening.

“Teki!” His voice was brimming with concern, but she only heard Fandral’s response.

“And he’s got a pet name for her too!”

Loki was still talking to her, but instincts had taken over. Teki turned and bolted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this story, feel free to check out my Tumblr (@cozy-the-overlord)!


	10. The Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teki deals with the fallout from the sparring pit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter includes descriptions of violence. It's not a incredibly long scene, but if that's not something you're comfortable reading, please be aware.

Loki may have called after her—Teki wouldn’t have been able to tell. She barely had the coherence to keep herself from running into anything, barely had the coherence to keep moving forward.

_One foot, two foot, one foot, two foot_

**_He’s going to kill you, Tekla_ ** _._

She ran, ran from the rumors that were likely already taking seed, from the humiliation that awaited her at dinner, from the punishment her stepfather would bring when he returned home.

_Embarrassment._

_Failure._

_Disgrace._

Her stomach was churning, her vision tearing up, but she didn’t stop, _couldn’t_ stop.

_Just wait until he gets back._

_Wait until he hears._

_He’ll kill you._

**_You’re dead, Tekla._ **

Her foot caught the hem of her dress and she tumbled head over heels into the grass, smacking her forehead against the ground. For a moment, she just lay there, panting and coughing her lungs out while her mind raced to catch up with her body.

_Dead dead dead dead dead dead—_

It was nice, lying there in the grass. It smelled like dirt—not in a bad way, more like the clean, fresh, earthy dirt smell that fills the air during the spring, when everything’s crisp and green. For a while, she just laid there, drowning in the scent of the terrain.

_Dying here wouldn’t be too bad._

Teki wasn’t certain how long she was there—for all she knew, it could’ve been years. She sat up slowly, painfully, still trembling like a leaf. Somehow, she had ended up on the opposite side of the gardens, nearer to the lake than to the sparring pit—

( _“I think they had been_ swimming _”_ )

Teki choked back a sob.

She had to go back. If she wasn’t home in time for dinner, her mother would send someone looking for her, and that would be more humiliating than any rumor floating around. Slowly, she pulled herself to her feet.

There were grass stains on her skirt. She tried to wipe them off, but the angry streaks of green weren’t going anywhere. _Mama’s going to be mad about that…_

 _Don’t think about it_ , she told herself. _Just go home. Go home before anyone else sees you._

She prayed to the Norns that Osvald wasn’t back yet.

For once, it seemed the Norns actually listened. The apartment was empty when Teki returned. She had just enough time to change dresses and fix the rat’s nest that was her hair before her mother came back with Brant in tow. Just hearing her blather on about how excited she was to talk to everyone at dinner was enough to make the pounding in Teki’s ears return.

“Can I stay home, Mama?” she whispered. “I don’t feel good.” It wasn’t a lie. In fact, Teki was certain she was going to be sick any minute.

But still, her mother frowned. “What do you mean? You were fine this morning.”

“I know, I just—”

“You’ve already missed so many dinners, Tekla. People will begin to think you an invalid.”

_Maybe if you let me go to the healers when I was hurt…_

But Teki bit her tongue. It wasn’t worth it. It was never worth it, but especially not tonight.

“ _Please_ , Mama,” she begged. “I’m not hungry. I just want to lie down.”

Her mother fixed her with a warning glare. “Tekla…”

Teki sighed, bracing herself to lose yet another battle, but Brant interrupted.

“But what if she makes Prince Thor sick?” he asked, looking up at their mother.

She seemed startled. “What?”

“If Teki—” he stopped himself before she had the chance to correct him, “If Tek _la_ is sick, and she goes to dinner and sits next to Prince Thor, then Prince Thor might get sick too.” His expression was innocent enough, but there was a sparkle in his blue eyes that said he knew _exactly_ what he was doing. “What if that happened?”

Teki could’ve kissed him.

Osvald came back only a little while after her mother and Brant left for dinner, when Teki was already in bed. She pretended to be asleep when he opened her bedroom door and looked in. Really, she half expected him to start yelling at her then and there, but instead he sighed, slamming the door gracelessly as he exited.

Teki let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She was safe, at least for one more day.

Maybe more than one. The next morning, she crept down the stairs slowly, keeping her eyes down as she slipped into her seat across from Brant, bracing herself for a violent breakfast. Her family barely looked up from their plates.

“Are you feeling better today, Tekla?” her mother asked absentmindedly as she cut her eggs.

Teki stared at her for a while before answering, waiting for the blowup. They had to have heard something. There was no way Thor’s friends had kept that delicious joke of theirs from the rest of court. But both Osvald and her mother were blithely chewing away at their food as if nothing had ever happened.

“Yes,” she finally whispered uncertainly. “I’m feeling much better.”

“Good.” Her mother dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “You’ve missed far too many dinners this summer. We don’t want the court to keep seeing you as a sickly little girl.”

_They don’t know._

She didn’t know how it was possible, but somehow, they hadn’t heard about what happened at the sparring pit.

…

Really, it seemed no one had. Teki had expected to hear whispers in the hallways, knowing looks and muffled laughter as she made her way to the royal platform at dinner that night, but no one said a thing. When she sat down, Thor gave her a sympathetic glance before returning to ignoring her as usual. To say she was confused was an understatement.

Still, she decided not to push it. She spent the meal with her gaze firmly fixed on the plate in front of her, not budging an inch until it was time to go home. She didn’t dare to look down the table at Loki.

Neither did she risk continuing her daily pilgrimage to watch the warriors train. She spent her days helping Brant with his reading, tucked away in her room as she ignored the dread swirling in a constant cloud above her head. He was getting pretty good at it, although he seemed more interested in the “secret” map he was continuously working on than practicing his letters.

But Teki couldn’t hide in her apartment forever. Word came that the Queen wished to see her in her quarters. And so, an obedient machine, she packed up her music and drifted through the hallways in a fog.

When she entered, Frigga patted the cushion on the sofa next to her. “Before you play, Tekla,” she said. “I wanted to talk to you.”

_Oh no._

Teki made her way to the Queen on wobbling knees. Frigga had the same gentle smile she always wore for her, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was going to go very badly. She perched herself rigidly on the edge of the cushion, hands folded in her lap to keep them still.

“I hear you and Loki have become very good friends—”

She whipped up in a panic. “I didn’t—I swear—Your Majesty, I—”

“It’s all right darling, you’re not in trouble!” Frigga soothed, her voice carrying nothing but soft reassurance. “I’m glad you and Loki get along so well. I know Thor isn’t always…” she hesitated, “The most _welcoming_ he could be. I’m happy you feel comfortable with one of us, at least.”

Teki stared at her hands. Her heart was thudding in her throat. Frigga didn’t seem upset, which was a relief, but more frightening questions lurked on the horizon. If the Queen knew, did that mean Osvald did as well?

Frigga rubbed her shoulder. “I can only imagine how hard it must be to be engaged to someone who seems so different from you,” she continued, still smiling warmly. “Which is why I’m relieved to see you’ve found common ground with Loki. Now, is everything all right?”

She gulped. “Why wouldn’t it be, my Queen?”

“Loki told me about what happened at the sparring pit. He said you were very upset. He was quite distraught over it,” she took Teki’s hands in her own. “You have nothing to fear from us, Tekla. I hope you realize that.”

 _You’re not the ones I fear_. But Teki nodded just the same.

“I do, my Queen,” she whispered.

Frigga beamed. “I’m glad to hear it.” She motioned to the piano. “Would you like to play a bit now?”

…

Until Osvald walked in, the afternoon had been peaceful. Teki was curled up on the couch with Brant, looking over his shoulder as he stumbled through reading aloud from his favorite storybook. Her mother was seated at the table, doing her needlework. The familiar haze that came with the end of the day had fallen over all three of them, and Teki had been finding it difficult to keep her eyes open.

But then Osvald cleared his throat, and the tranquility crumbled to the floor.

Teki sprang to her feet, whipping around to face him where he stood by the door, glittering eyes fixed on her. Her heartbeat froze in her throat. She knew that look.

_He knows._

Her mother knew that look too. “Brant,” she said sharply. Her little brother’s book had slipped from his hands and to the floor. He sat on the couch shivering, blue eyes already swimming in tears. She stood, beckoning him. “Come here.”

When Brant didn’t move, she raised her voice. “Brant, _come here_.”

Haltingly, her brother stumbled across the room to her mother’s outstretched hand. Teki wanted to follow, but her feet were rooted to the wooden floor. All she could do was cast a desperate look to her mother as she pulled Brant out of the room. _Please don’t leave._ Please _don’t leave me with him._

Her only response was the sound of her footsteps clodding up the stairs.

Her stepfather waited for the sound of the bedroom door closing before he spoke.

“I just heard a very interesting story.” He approached her slowly, each step heavy and deliberate, a lion stalking his pray. “Do you know what I heard, Tekla?”

Her breath was coming in quick bursts, her mouth too dry to make a noise. She could only shake her head.

“I heard that Prince Loki spent the night of his Nameday Feast cavorting about the palace gardens with a young girl, completely unchaperoned.” Teki pressed her eyes closed, as if that could block him out. “And do you know who this girl was?”

Again, she could only shake her head.

“No?” Osvald feigned surprise. “Ask me, then.”

Her tongue was like sandpaper. “Who—who was it, sir?” she whispered hoarsely.

“Tekla Osvalddottir,” he spat the name as if it disgusted him to say it. “That’s what they said. Tekla Osvalddottir. My daughter. Betrothed to the Crown Prince, frolicking around with his younger brother like a common whore.” He glowered above her. Teki kept her gaze down, staring at his polished boots as she struggled against the tears. “And I said ‘that can’t be true. Not my Tekla.’ Isn’t that right?”

He grabbed her chin, yanking her head up so she had no choice but to look into his blazing eyes. “Tell me it’s not true. Look at me and tell me it’s not true.”

She gulped for air, losing the battle as the tears trickled from the corner of her eyes. “It’s not true,” she wheezed.

The blow hit her right in the left temple. For a moment, her vision blacked out. With a cry, Teki crashed against the floor.

“Liar.” He kicked the side of her head. Pain exploded across her skull, psychedelic colors dancing across her eyesight. She smacked her cheek against the wooden floorboards. “Is this what I’ve raised? A lying, ungrateful little harlot?”

Her mouth was coated in the coppery flavor of blood, burning her throat when she tried to swallow. She struggled to pull herself into the fetal position, but he got a kick into her ribcage before she could manage it.

“Do you have nothing to say for yourself?” he asked, moving behind her as she shuddered on the floor

“I’m sorry!” she sobbed.

“What was that?”

Her throat burned. She choked on her own breath. “I’m sorry!”

Osvald grabbed her from behind by the collar of her dress, yanking her backwards to her knees. His whisper was hot on the back of her neck.

“Go to your room. Now.” He threw her back on to the ground on to her stomach. “If I see your face before dinner, I promise you won’t be able to fucking _move_ for a month.” Teki didn’t have to be told twice. Stumbling, she lurched forward, scrambling up the stairs on all fours like an animal. She barely made it to her bedroom before she completely collapsed, a coughing, gasping mess sprawled out on the rug. Her head was pounding, her brain pulsing with her every move. It was so bad, she almost didn’t hear her mother’s question to Osvald outside her door.

“You didn’t bruise her face, did you? She’s missed too many dinners, we can’t afford for her to miss again—”

Teki didn’t catch her stepfather’s reply. She curled up into a ball and sobbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this story, feel free to check out my Tumblr (@cozy-the-overlord)!


	11. The Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long-anticipated Summer Games have arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably my favorite chapter in this story and I'm really excited to post it. I got some bad news yesterday and have kind of been in a weird headspace ever since, so this has really been giving me something positive to look forward to. Seeing your kudos and comments really make my day every week :) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it, and as always, thank you so much for reading!

The first day of the Games arrived in all its vicious glory. Feasts, festivities, toasts, the clinking of mugs and the cheering of names—it seemed the whole of Asgard was gathered about the arena, the usual level of pandemonium descending upon the crowd as each warrior was introduced.

Teki sat stiff as a board in her seat, hands properly clasped in her lap as she stared straight ahead, unblinking. The swelling by her temple hadn’t completely gone down, but her mother had been able to manipulate a loose hairstyle that mostly hid it from view. While that worked seemingly well, Teki was afraid to move the wrong way, lest her hair shift and reveal her injuries. Even clapping seemed dangerous.

The princes were soon called forward as well, raucous applause erupting across the masses as Thor, the three-time defending champion, leapt with a bow and a winning smile. Loki’s name was somewhat lost in the ensuing chaos.

Teki was careful to keep her face neutral. She didn’t know where Osvald was seated, but wherever he was chances were high that he had a good view of her atop the royal platform next to Frigga. She knew he’d be watching her for any kind of improper reaction. She was determined not to give him one.

Besides her, the Queen clapped halfheartedly for her sons. Teki was rather surprised at her lack of enthusiasm. Shouldn’t a mother be more unhampered in her support? But Frigga’s brow was creased with worry. Teki gazed at the boys choosing their weapons alongside the other fighters—swords, knives, axes. She wondered if she’d be able to clap if Brant was in the arena.

The first day was dedicated to contests and non-confrontational competitions—archery, footraces, axe-tossing. Supposedly, this was the less violent segment of the Games, although the words “less violent” and “the Games” didn’t really match up. Inevitably, a judge made a bad call, the affronted contestant sprang up in insulted frustration, and then suddenly everyone in the arena was shouting at the top of their lungs and throwing each other to the ground. These brawls were a staple of the Games, and more often than not Thor was one of the first to start them, so King Odin usually let them go on for a bit before silencing everyone with a clang of his spear.

Teki tried to watch with the diligence expected of future royalty, but the summer heat worsened her headache and stifled her attentiveness, sending little beads of sweat dripping down her face and irritating her bruised skin. At least the royal platform was shielded from the sun—she felt bad for the people huddled around the ring with no cover whatsoever. Still, it was far too hot to properly follow anything.

The only time the competition truly held her attention was during the knife throwing, although she was ashamed to admit why. Loki dominated the event like it was his life’s calling. His movements were almost feline, cutting through the air as if he were a blade himself, carrying a kind of fluidity that even the veteran participants lacked. Teki didn’t think he missed a single throw. When the judges crowned him winner, she couldn’t resist her tiny grin.

It made her think of the gold-hilted dagger wedged beneath her mattress along with her father’s journal. She found herself fantasizing about wearing it to the Games, sitting here in her seat with Loki’s blade at her waist. Lots of women did something like that—wearing their warrior’s weapon of choice to show solidarity with him during the tournament. She imagined how Loki would react, if he looked up at the podium and saw her wearing his dagger. She wondered if his face would light up the way it did when she came to watch him practice …

The trumpets blared, announcing the next event. Teki shook herself from the daydream. _What was she thinking?_ She was betrothed to Prince Thor, destined to be his Queen. She couldn’t allow her thoughts to wander elsewhere. The next group trooped into the arena. Teki only sunk lower in her seat.

One-on-one duels began the following day. _This_ was what everyone had been waiting for. The crowd was absolutely feral as the order was announced. Most of the people were foreign to Teki, but her ears perked up at a few familiar names: Loki would be fighting towards the beginning, against another novice combatant. Thor was going against a hulking man from Vanaheim. Fandral was paired against another one of Thor’s friends: the slender, controlled warrior who preferred a spiked mace to a sword and whom Teki had rarely seen lose.

 _Good_ , she thought as the two shook hands, _I hope he kicks your butt._

Again, she found herself struggling to stay focused throughout the duels between people she didn’t recognize. The first one ended when one of the men yielded. The second went through until the loser was knocked to the dirt, unconscious and bleeding. The third went on so long that by the time a winner was called the crowd had almost completely lost interest.

But then it was Loki’s turn. Teki perked up when he arrived in the field with a slight bow, adjusting his golden breastplate as he did. He met her gaze when he turned to the platform, his impassible expression relaxing a moment when he saw her smiling.

His opponent bowed as well. He was a crazed looking thing, wisps of his wildfire hair curling past his neck like a lion’s mane. His name was Geirr, and while the master of ceremonies said he was the same age as Loki, Teki was certain he looked a bit older.

The two boys took their stances in the arena with their staffs. Teki swallowed. She wished Loki could use his daggers. The games were set up in a series of rounds, with the winners of each duel going on to fight each other in the next. They changed the weapons each time: round one was quarterstaff, round two was sword, round three was axe, and so on until the final round, where the last two warriors used their weapon of choice. While Teki knew well that Loki was more than capable with the weighted staffs, nothing could compare to his deadliness with his daggers.

At the sound of the trumpet, Geirr was quick to jump to the offensive. He leapt forward with several well-aimed stabbing motions that Loki deftly avoided. He blocked another swing and attempted a hit of his own, grazing Geirr’s torso before the red-haired boy pushed him back.

It was a very even match. The two chased each other into every corner of the arena, each sharp clap of their staffs meeting echoing across the thrumming crowd like thunder. Teki found herself leaning forward in her seat. At moments, Loki seemed just on the edge of victory. He got the first hit, smacking his opponent against his ribcage and causing him to double over in pain. The crowd cheered, but then Geirr was on his feet again and rushing at the prince, and once more Loki was on the defensive.

Teki’s chest hurt from holding her breath. _Come on_. Loki was right on top of him, landing blows on his shoulder, his hip. Geirr was struggling to stay on his feet. She dug her nails into the palms of her hands. _So close. Come on—_

Geirr feinted to the right. It was a sudden jerk that caught Teki off guard, and she inhaled so sharply it stung.

It seemed to catch Loki off guard too. When he moved to block, Geirr whipped the other end of the staff around from the left. It collided with the prince’s face with a sickening crack. Her hands flew to her mouth, muffling her gasp. Loki fell backwards. For a moment, the crowd was silent.

Loki didn’t move.

The master of ceremonies rushed into the arena, raising Geirr’s hand. “The winner! Geirr Alfrson!” The people erupted into cheers.

Teki barely heard them. Loki was still on the ground, flocked by individuals in the blue robes of the healing ward. _Was that blood on his face?_ She stared at them with a knitted brow. _Was he unconcious? How hard of a blow must it have been to knock him unconscious?_ The healers were caring him out of the fighting area on a pallet of some sort. He still hadn’t moved.

Frigga was already on her feet, rushing down the stairs to the medical tents set up just outside the crowd. For once, she didn’t think of Osvald. Teki hurried to follow her.

The Queen stopped at the entrance to the white tent, speaking in hushed tones with one of the healing women. Teki slipped past them, seemingly without notice.

Inside, Loki was awake, and Teki exhaled in relief. He was sitting up on a cot as another woman in blue held a blood-soaked cloth to his nose.

“How are you feeling now?” she was asking.

He shrugged. “Fine.”

“Any lightheadedness?”

“Not really.”

“Very well.” The woman stood, patting him gently on the knee. “It was a simple heal. You should be able to rejoin the festival without issue when you feel ready.” With that, she exited the tent, nodding slightly as she passed Teki on the way out.

Loki heaved a sigh, cradling his head in his hands. Teki approached him slowly, kneeling at his side.

“Hey,” she asked quietly. “Are you all right?”

He glanced up quickly. Once he saw that it was only her, he relaxed a bit.

“I’m fine.” He huffed bitterly. “I could’ve taken him. _Easily_. One quick illusion, and he never would’ve seen it coming.” She jumped when he smacked the mattress. “I thought maybe—for _once_ in my life—”

He was crying, Teki realized with a start. Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes, dangerously close to spilling over. She didn’t know what to say.

“You did wonderfully,” she murmured. “There’s no reason to be ashamed. He just got a lucky hit—”

“There shouldn’t have _been_ a lucky hit!” There was something dark in his face, something Teki had never seen there before. It scared her. He scowled. “Thor wouldn’t have let him get a lucky hit.”

“But—you can do things Thor can only dream of,” Teki pointed out. _Where was this coming from?_ “Like the liquid light, with Brant—”

Loki laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “That doesn’t matter! It’s just a trick, nothing but a trick. Tricks don’t win the day. Father wants _real_ warriors, not childish pranks.”

“You are a real warrior!” she insisted. “You won the knife toss yesterday, and you still did really well today—”

“You don’t understand!” he cried. “It’s not enough! It’s _never_ enough.”

He fell forward, covering his eyes with his hand. His body shook with barely restrained sobs. Teki’s heart was breaking. She reached out hesitantly, fingers brushing against his shoulder. When he didn’t flinch away, she moved closer. Loosely, giving him plenty of room to pull away if he wanted to, she eased the prince into an embrace.

At first, he stiffened, and Teki almost made to let him go, but then his arms encircled her torso, gripping her as if she were his only anchor to land. She held him tighter in return.

And with that, the dam broke. Loki sobbed into her shoulder openly, unabashedly, no longer attempting to keep up appearances. Teki didn’t say anything. She had never been very good at comforting people, never really knew how. All she could do was rub his back and let him cry.

She wasn’t sure how long it went on for. Eventually, Loki stopped, pulling away to wipe at his eyes with the heel of his hand. He kept his head down, seemingly ashamed to meet her gaze.

“Forgive me,” he murmured hoarsely.

She frowned. “For what?”

“It’s—” His voice caught in the back of his throat “Pathetic. Selfish, to complain. Forgive me.”

“No it’s not.” Teki reached out to push his chin up so he’d look at her. Still, he avoided her eyes. “How is it selfish?” _Norns know how many times he’s put up with my tears._

“I just—” He shook his head. “Here I am, whining to you about my gripes with my father, when you—when you’re suffering through conditions I can’t even imagine.” His fingers brushed against her temple, just barely running across the swelling. Now it was her turn to face the floor in shame. He had noticed. Of course he had.

“It’s so selfish…” he repeated, his voice so soft it seemed to be coming from somewhere else.

“No,” she whispered. She turned back to him, hoping the determined sincerity came across in her expression. “You _always_ can complain. Anytime. I’ll always listen. You’re not selfish.”

He stared at her, his eyes tired and swollen. His hand traced her profile, down from her temple to cup her cheek. She shivered.

“But I am,” he said finally, almost too quiet to hear. “Because I don’t want you to marry my brother. And the reason is entirely selfish.”

Teki’s heart stuttered to a halt. _What?_ Her mouth fell open, but no words came out. What should she say to that? What _could_ she say to that?

Just then, the tent flap pushed open. Loki stiffened, pulling away from her immediately. Twisting around, Teki found herself melting under the iron gaze of Odin AllFather. Frigga stood not far behind. She felt the color drain from her face.

For a moment, they just stared at her. Teki quickly scrambled to her feet, burning (she had been _kneeling_ , how must that have looked?).

“Your Majesties,” she faltered, somehow managing to sink into a clumsy curtsey. “If—if you’ll excuse me.” And with that, without waiting for a response, she fled from the tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this story, feel free to check out my Tumblr (@cozy-the-overlord)!


	12. The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events of the Games have Teki's head spinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the calm before the storm.

Teki picked at the sash of her dress as she sat in her seat on the podium. Before her, the Games continued in all their raucous glory, but she barely registered them. Odin hadn’t spared her even a passing glance when he returned to his seat. Frigga had given her a reassuring smile, but there was a tightness in her face that blocked any comfort she may have intending to bring. Her mind was racing.

_What are they thinking? Are they angry? Am I in trouble? Are they going to tell Osvald? Does he know what happened?_

And then there was the other thing. The thing that Loki had said just before she went rushing from the tent.

_I don’t want you to marry my brother._

Teki didn’t even know how to try to untangle her thoughts on that.

The words still rattled in her head even as she readied for bed that night, once she realized that Osvald was far too drunk to remember whether or not she stayed in her seat the entire day. After helping Brant into his nightclothes and tucking him in, Teki returned to her room in a pensive silence.

_I don’t want you to marry my brother._

A secret, selfish part of her had always wanted him to say that. It had been easy to deny when it was hidden away, out of sight. She could ignore the butterflies that fluttered to life every time he smiled at her when it seemed she was the only one who could feel them. But Loki had released them into the wild, and now they were impossible to corral.

_I don’t want to marry your brother either._

Tears prickled across her vision. Teki wiped at her eyes in frustration. _None_ of them wanted it. Loki, Thor, Sif, herself—none of them wanted this engagement. And none of them mattered.

She dug under her mattress for her father’s journal. She wasn’t certain that even the familiar script would be enough to soothe her jumbled thoughts tonight, but still she flipped through the pages in search of comfort. The search for her father had been put on the back burner while Loki prepared for the Games, but Teki hoped to continue it as soon as possible. Running her hands down the leather spine, she closed her eyes and imagined him walking through the door for the first time in years, imagined showing him how she had taught herself the pieces he was able to play for her, imagined him meeting Brant, meeting Loki…

Her daydream abruptly stalled when her fingers slipped into a split in the back cover. _What?_ Teki glanced down in surprise. Had she torn the book?

No. There was a flap on the inside cover, a pocket that she had never noticed before. _What the Hel?_ She pulled it open, peering into the grimy leather cavern. It was empty, save for a tiny piece of paper, folded into quarters and yellowed with age.

She recognized her father’s handwriting immediately, although it was a bit more polished than the hurried scrawl she usually found in his journal. It was an unfinished letter, she realized dimly, dated the week before he left, addressed to her mother.

_Áslaug—_

_I understand your frustrations, and I realize your father has put you under considerable pressure. But I beg you to examine why this proposal is so important to you and ask yourself what you hope to gain from it. It’s become alarmingly clear to me these past few months that your highest priority lies in increasing your own social stature, and I fear that you have signed off on this marriage agreement only because of the benefits it would bring you and without a thought given to how it may effect Tekla. I know you argue that it would be good for her in the long term, and perhaps it would, but neither of us can know that with certainty. And in your greed, you would take away her right to choose her own destiny. I cannot allow that. I will not consent to my daughter being used as a bargaining chip for your family’s schemes._

Teki reread the words several times over, their meaning not fully dawning on her for a bit. _I will not consent to my daughter being used as a bargaining chip for your family’s schemes_. They were talking about her arranged marriage, obviously, but this couldn’t have been her father’s true thoughts. A marriage agreement could not be made official without the wholehearted approval from both sets of parents. He had to have agreed.

Although…

Her father left only a few days before the arrangement was made public. Actually, now that she thought of it, Osvald and her mother’s engagement was announced before her own. She remembered her mother’s frantic insistence that she accept her stepfather into her life as quickly as possible.

_We have Lord Osvald, Tekla. He’s your father now._

If he believed Steinn would no longer be in her life, would Odin have accepted Osvald’s word as her paternal consent? Possibly. Probably.

That must have been convenient for her mother.

She remembered Völundr’s hazel eyes, how somber they had grown when Loki asked him if he had heard from Steinn.

_I don’t know what happened that night, but I know there’s no way in Hel he left you of his own accord._

Teki closed the journal in a fog, tucking the creased letter within the pages. All at once, she felt as if she was going to be sick.

…

She had hoped for a chance to talk to Loki at some point during the night-long feast that followed the conclusion of the Games. The Great Hall was booming with boisterous celebration. Prince Thor had been crowned champion yet again, the perfect excuse for everyone to get wildly drunk. He certainly was making the most of it—in between overflowing mugs of mead and garbled chants with his friends, he pulled Sif across the dance floor and planted his lips firmly on hers in front of all to see. Teki pretended she didn’t notice the whispers, the scandalized glances as people turned from the Crown Prince to his would-be bride. She waited patiently in her seat for Loki to ask her to dance, fiddling with the sash of her crimson dress.

He danced with other girls first. That bothered her more than it should have. Teki knew of course that she had no claim on the younger prince’s company, but that didn’t quiet the feral growl gurgling in her chest every time she watched him bow to another. _Mine. He’s mine._

It didn’t help that for the first several dances Loki didn’t even as much as _look_ in her direction. At first, Teki bristled. Why was he avoiding her? Was he angry? Did he… did he regret what he said to her after his duel?

But as the night went on, Teki began to worry that there was something else going on. His frame was stiffer than usual. His quiet conversation somehow carried over the clamor of the Great Hall. The boy who usually preferred to remain hidden in the shadows seemed to be making a point of emphasizing his presence. She was relieved when he finally made his way over to her seat.

He bowed. “Lady Tekla.” Teki barely masked a frown. _Tekla?_ Yes, something certainly was off.

Still, she stood and curtseyed as if she thought nothing of it. “My prince.”

“Would you honor me with the next dance?” Loki’s voice was loud, and oddly stilted. Again, Teki felt as if he was putting on a performance. She nodded, allowing him to lead her to floor.

“Is something wrong?” she whispered as they navigated through the throng of merrymakers.

Loki shook his head, almost imperceptibly. “My father,” he hissed under his breath. “He’s had his eye on me all night.”

She glanced back towards the podium without moving her head. Odin sat back in his throne, his disapproving glare fixed solidly upon the two of them. Teki gulped.

“Are you in trouble because of me?” she asked. She thought of the tent, how she had fled first chance she got and left Loki to defend himself alone. Guilt festered in her heart.

“No, no, it’s not your fault,” he said quickly, pulling her farther back across the dance floor. “He’s just… concerned. That I’m getting in the way.” He grimaced, scanning the crowd surrounding them. “You need to dance with Thor tonight.” The words came out stiffly, as if merely voicing them aloud pained him.

“I can’t!” she hissed. Thor was in the corner, surrounded by a group of people Teki didn’t recognize, chugging a goblet of something as they chanted excitedly. “He never asks me.”

Loki followed her gaze, sighing. “He’s a fool. I’ll make sure he asks you.”

The song was nearing an end. She still hadn’t told him about the letter. Teki pulled his arm.

“Loki, I found something else in the journal,” she whispered. “About my father.”

The prince’s eyes widened. “Really?” But the dance was coming to a finish. Loki led her back towards the platform, the two of them wilting under Odin’s stare. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” he murmured as he bowed, giving her hand a slight squeeze.

Teki nodded. “Goodnight.” She sighed as her prince disappeared back into the crowd and returned to her seat, resigning herself to a night of waiting for Thor to remember her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this story, feel free to check out my Tumblr (@cozy-the-overlord)!


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